The smell of morocco is so delicious.

Just one whiff of it.' 'Then you want to smell it, not to see it.

If you're good, you shall before you go away.' 'No, but now!--Wilfrid!' He was pretending to squeeze her fingers in the shutting of the drawer.
She would not undo her grasp.
'Why mayn't I, Wilfrid ?' She looked at him.

His expression was graver than became the incident; he was trying to smile, but Beatrice saw that his eyes and lips were agitated.
'Why mayn't I ?' she repeated.
'Oh, if you insist,' he exclaimed, moving back a step or two, 'of course you may.' She took up the case, and looked at it on either side.
'There are letters in it ?' she said, without raising her eyes.
'Yes, I believe there are letters in it.' 'Important, I suppose ?' 'I daresay; I suppose I had some reason for putting them there.' He spoke with apparent indifference, and turned to light a cigarette.
Beatrice put back the case, and closed the drawer.
'Here is note-paper,' Wilfrid said, holding some to her.
She took it in silence, and seated herself.

Wilfrid at tempted to pursue the jest, but she could not reply.