at last came, after I had exerted every effort, and played every card I knew, that she understood and responded.
I remember it so well.
That evening my wife had gone out visiting and was late in returning, and Estelle and I were sitting in the twilight, waiting. I was ablaze with longing for her, controlling myself with difficulty. She was speaking confidentially about her younger days, and then as she talked I put my hand on hers and she did not take it away. It was all done and over in a second; before I could think I was kissing her madly. I laugh at myself now, but I was in deadly earnest then. "You mustn't—oh! you really must not," I remember her saying, but she returned my kisses, and ten minutes after I left her crying bitterly, but she put on her hat and coat, and got away before my wife came back. We had many stolen meetings afterwards, but she was always blaming herself for her treachery to "Babs"—my wife's name with her intimates—and try as I would, and I think I was fairly persuasive, I could never make her really responsive, or even kiss me again.
"I will not be such a treacherous beast to her," she would say, "much as I love you, But—if only we had met before,"
