"Oh, may I?" said I, and drawing her to me I kissed her soft cheek. "May I kiss the other cheek now?" I asked. She turned it to me, and when I had kissed it rapturously, I gazed into her eyes, which looked back, bright and unabashed, into mine. "I think--I think I made a slight mistake, Yoletta," I said. "What I meant to ask was, will you let me kiss you where I like--on your chin, for instance, or just where I like?" "Yes; but you are keeping me too long. Kiss me as many times as you like, and then let us admire the prospect." I drew her closer and kissed her mouth, not once nor twice, but clinging to it with all the ardor of passion, as if my lips had become glued to hers. Suddenly she disengaged herself from me. "Why do you kiss my mouth in that violent way?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed. "You seem like some hungry animal that wanted to devour me." That was, oddly enough, just how I felt. "Do you not not know, sweetest, why I kiss you in that way? Because I love you." "I know you do, Smith. I can understand and appreciate your love without having my lips bruised." "And do you love me, Yoletta?" "Yes, certainly--did you not know that?" "And is it not sweet to kiss when you love? Do you know what love is, darling? Do you love me a thousand times more than any one else in the world?" "How extravagantly you talk!" she replied. "What strange things you say!" "Yes, dear, because love is strange--the strangest, sweetest thing in life. It comes once only to the heart, and the one person loved is infinitely more than all others. Do you not understand that?" "Oh no; what do you mean, Smith?" "Is there any other person dearer to your heart than I am?" "I love every one in the house, some more than others. Those that are closely related to me I love most." "Oh, please say no more! You love your people with one kind of love, but me with a different love--is it not so?" "There is only one kind of love," said she. "Ah, you say that because you are a child yet, and do not know. You are even younger than I thought, perhaps. How old are you, dear?" "Thirty-one years old," she replied, with the utmost gravity. "Oh, Yoletta, what an awful cram! I mean--oh, I beg your pardon for being so rude! But--but don't you think you can draw it mild? Thirty-one--what a joke! Why, I'm an old fellow compared with you, and I'm not twenty-two yet. Do tell me what you mean, Yoletta?" She was not listening to me, I saw: she had risen from the grass and seated herself again on the stone. For only answer to my question she pointed to the west with her hand, saying: "Look there, Smith."