kissed her eyes and lips. This was good for the sobs if not for the breathing, and I could feel her heart hammering against my chest.
Rosalie was fast coming to herself, however, and pretty soon she stirred uneasily, drawing her arms from round my neck and letting her head slip down against my shoulder.
"Whatever must you think of me, Frank?" said she.
"Just what I've always thought—that you're a brave, warm-hearted darling, and as good as they make 'em. After all, we're only human."
She caught her breath; then her laugh rippled out, quavering and unsteady.
"Look in the glass, Frank. What a picture!"
I looked across the room and saw the reflection of a young priest in a long black cassock sitting on a divan with his arms full of an uncommonly pretty girl with very red cheeks, hair tumbled round her ears, and a flowered kimono far enough open to show a very demoralising throat. That part of it was corrected while I looked in the glass and Rosalie drew herself up, then turned and looked at me thoughtfully.
"That was a bad breakdown, Frank—but I feel better now. I was 'all in,' as they say at home. You are a sort of Rock of Refuge, aren't you? I wonder how many men there are in this town to whom a girl could cling and cry with safety?" She stared at me, her eyes curious and alight. "You may be an ex-burglar, Frank, but"
"But I never stole what I was trusted with," I answered. "Now go wash your face, my dear, and
