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of ice. Then, like a breath, it reached him,
"I love you—Miles!"
"Say it again!" he cried, eagerly. She shook her head, laughing softly.
"It's your turn," she whispered.
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"I fear I shall tire you," he answered,
in simulated concern.
"No, you won't," she answered. You seeOh, I've wanted to be loved so!" she cried, with a little catch in her voice. "I've been so—so lonely!"
Presently, but not until Bistre had yawned again twice, she was standing away from him, blushing, radiant, happy, her hands busy with her golden hair.
"And now I'll tell you why I wrote it," she said.
"Oh, I don't care now," he laughed, joyfully.
