He drew the other from her, and as she looked at him questioningly, he put it to his lips and thrust it under his waistcoat, over his heart.
The colour flooded her face, but the blush was followed by the old look of trouble and doubt.

She held out her ungloved right hand and he took it and held it for a moment, then raised it to his lips; but he did not kiss it.
"No!" he said, with stern repression.

"I will take nothing--until you give it me." She inclined her head the very slightest, as if she understood, as if she were grateful; then letting her eyes rest on his with an inscrutable look, she spoke softly to the horse and rode away, with Donald and Bess clamouring joyously after her, as if they had found the proceedings extremely trying.
Stafford flung his arm across his horse, and leaning against it, looked after her, his eyes fixed wistfully on the slight, graceful figure, until it was out of sight; then he gazed round him as if he were suddenly returning from a new, mysterious region to the old familiar world.

Passion's marvellous spell still held him, he was still throbbing with a half-painful ecstasy of her nearness, of the touch of her hand, the magic of her voice.
For the first time he was in love.

In love with the most exquisite, the most wonderful of God's divine creatures.