Only the fragrance of her hair seemed real to him; and the long lashes resting on curved cheeks, and the youth of her yielding to his embrace.
Neither spoke when it had ended.

She turned aside and stood motionless a moment, resting against the stair rail as though to steady herself.

Her small head was lowered.
He managed to say: "You will give me the next ?" "No." "Then the next----" "No," she said, not moving.
A young fellow came up eagerly, cocksure of her, but she shook her head--and shook her head to all--and Berkley remained standing beside her.

And at last her reluctant head turned slowly, and, slowly, her gaze searched his.
"Shall we rest ?" he said.
"Yes.

I am--tired." Her dainty avalanche of skirts filled the stairs as she settled there in silence; he at her feet, turned sideways so that he could look up into the brooding, absent eyes.
And over them again--over the small space just then allotted them in the world--was settling once more the intangible, indefinable spell awakened by their first light contact.