“Every atom.”
“But—now you look——”
“Did I look aside?”
“With the inward eye. Suppose now we were two angels——”
“Oh, dear—a sloppy angel!”
“Well—don’t interrupt now—suppose I were one—like the ‘Blessed Damosel.’ ”
“With a warm bosom——!”
“Don’t be foolish, now—I a ‘Blessed Damosol’ and you kicking the brown beech leaves below thinking——”
“What are you driving at?”
“Would you be thinking—thoughts like prayers?”
“What on earth do you ask that for? Oh—I think I’d be cursing—eh?”
“No—saying fragrant prayers—that your thin soul might mount up——”
“Hang thin souls, Lettie! I’m not one of your souly sort. I can’t stand Pre-Raphaelities. You—You’re not a Burne-Jonesess—you’re an Albert Moore. I think there’s more in the warm touch of a soft body than in a prayer. I’ll pray with kisses.”
“And when you can’t?”
“I’ll wait till prayer-time again. By Jove, I’d rather feel my arms full of you; I’d rather touch that red mouth—you grudger!—than sing hymns with you in any heaven.”
“I’m afraid you’ll never sing hymns with me in heaven.”
“Well—I have you here—yes, I have you now.”
“Our life is but a fading dawn?”
“Liar!—Well, you called me! Besides, I don’
