There it was again--"I love you"-- twice blazoned in magic symbols.

With blushing eagerness she told him how, by mere accident of course, she caught sight of her own name.
It was not very wrong, was it, to pick up that tiny scrap, or those others, which she could not help seeing, and which unfolded their simple tale so truthfully?
Wrong! It was so delightfully right that he must kiss her again to emphasize his convictions.
All this fondling and love-making had, of course, an air of grotesque absurdity because indulged in by two grimy and tattered individuals crouching beneath a tarpaulin on a rocky ledge, and surrounded by bloodthirsty savages intent on their destruction.

Such incidents require the setting of convention, the conservatory, with its wealth of flowers and plants, a summer wood, a Chippendale drawing-room.

And yet, God wot, men and women have loved each other in this grey old world without stopping to consider the appropriateness of place and season.
After a delicious pause Iris began again---- "Robert--I must call you Robert now--there, there, please let me get a word in even edgeways--well then, Robert dear, I do not care much what happens now.

I suppose it was very wicked and foolish of me to speak as I did before--before you called me Iris.