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?''