She was biting those tremulous lips.

And when she turned again to him they were red.

The short-bowed upper lip, full and sweet, the lower, with its sensitive droop at the corner, eloquent of sorrow--all at once Lane realized he wanted to kiss that mouth more than he had ever wanted anything.

The moment was sudden and terrible, for it meant love--love such as he had never known.
"Daren," she said, turning, "tell me how you got the _Croix de Guerre_." By the look of her and the hand that moved toward his breast, Lane felt his power over her.

He began his story and it was as if he heard some one else talking.