Then he put out his hand and took hers.

He put it against his cheek and held it in both his own.

She did not take her eyes from his face, but his eyes began to wander.
"I will never see you again, Bob--I mean like this." She paused.
There was no life in his hands, and hers slipped away unrestrained.
"How sweet the lilacs smell to-night," he said as he drew in a deep breath.

He leaned back that he might breathe more freely, and added as he sighed, "I shall smell them through eternity--Molly." Then he rose and broke off a spray.

He helped her rise and said, "Well--so this is the way of it." His handsome fair face was white in the moonlight, and she saw that his hair was thinning at the temples, and the strange flash of familiarity with it all came again as she inhaled the fragrance of the lilacs.
She trembled with some chill of inner grief, and cried vehemently, "Oh, Bob--my boy--my boy--say you hate me--for God's love, say you hate me." She came so close to him that she touched him, then she crumpled against the side of the seat in a storm of tears, but he looked at her steadily and shook his head.
"Come on, Molly.