VI
Dennis Vidal, when the door had closed on his host, drew again to his breast the girl to whom he was plighted and pressed her there with silent joy. She softly submitted, then still more softly disengaged herself, though in his flushed firmness he but partly released her. The light of admiration was in his hard young face—a visible tribute to what she showed again his disaccustomed eyes. Holding her yet, he covered her with a smile that produced two strong but relenting lines on either side of his dry, thin lips. "My own dearest," he murmured, "you're still more so than one remembered!"
She opened her clear eyes wider. "Still more what?"
"Still more of a fright!" And he kissed her again.
"It's you that are wonderful, Dennis," she said; "you look so absurdly young."
