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In the Quarter

Год написания книги
2019
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The young man was silent.

``And you will come again?'' she asked timidly.

No answer.

She moved toward the door.

``We were such very good friends.''

Still he was silent.

``Is it au revoir?'' she whispered, and waited for a moment on the threshold.

``Then it is adieu.''

``Yes,'' he said, huskily, ``that is better.''

She trembled a little and leaned against the doorway.

``Adieu, mon ami – '' She tried to speak, but her voice broke and ended in a sob.

Then, all at once, and neither knew just how it was, she was lying in his arms, sobbing passionately.

*

``Rex,'' said Yvonne, half an hour later, as she stood before the mirror arranging her disordered curls, ``are you not the least little bit ashamed of yourself?''

The answer appeared to be satisfactory, but the curly head was in a more hopeless state of disorder than before, and at last the girl gave a little sigh and exclaimed, ``There! I'm all rumpled, but its your fault. Will you oblige me by regarding my hair?''

``Better let it alone; I'll only rumple it some more!'' he cried, ominously.

``You mustn't! I forbid you!''

``But I want to!''

``Not now, then – ''

``Yes – immediately!''

``Rex – you mustn't. O, Rex – I – I – ''

``What?'' he laughed, holding her by her slender wrists.

She flushed scarlet and struggled to break away.

``Only one.''

``No.''

``One.''

``None.''

``Shall I let you go?''

``Yes,'' she said, but catching sight of his face, stopped short.

He dropped her hands with a laugh and looked at her. Then she came slowly up to him, and flushing crimson, pulled his head down to hers.

``Yvonne, do you love me? Truthfully?''

``Rex, can you ask?'' Her warm little head lay against his throat, her heart beat against his, her breath fell upon his cheek, and her curls clustered among his own.

``Yvonne – Yvonne,'' he murmured, ``I love you – once and forever.''

``Once and forever,'' she repeated, in a half whisper.

``Forever,'' he said.

*

An hour later they were seated tete-à-tete at Gethryn's little table. She had not permitted him to poach the eggs, and perhaps they were better on that account.

``Bachelor habits must cease,'' she cried, with a little laugh, and Gethryn smiled in doubtful acquiescence.

``Do you like grilled sardines on toast?'' she asked.

``I seem to,'' he smiled, finishing his fourth; ``they are delicious – yours,'' he added.

``Oh, that tea!'' she cried, ``and not one bit of sugar. What a hopelessly careless man!''

But Gethryn jumped up, crying, ``Wait a moment!'' and returned triumphantly with a huge mass of rock-candy – the remains of one of Clifford's abortive attempts at ``rye-and-rock.''

They each broke off enough for their cups, and Gethryn, tasting his, declared the tea ``delicious.'' Yvonne sat, chipping an egg and casting sidelong glances at Gethryn, which were always met and returned with interest.

``Yvonne, I want to tell you a secret.''

``What, Rex?''

``I love you.''

``Oh!''

``And you?''

``No – not at all!'' cried the girl, shaking her pretty head. Presently she gave him a swift glance from beneath her drooping lashes.

``Rex?''
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