They leaned toward each other on the window-seat until their faces were very close and the fire of his cigarette touched the tip of hers. Across the frail white bridge and through the pale cloud that rose, their eyes met and his gazed deep into hers, the depths of which he could not fathom. Then they drew back their heads with one accord and his hand fell upon hers where it lay on the cushion. Nor did she withdraw her hand even as his closed over it. The contact sent his blood tingling to his heart; he leaned nearer her. Their eyes, as now and then they saw in the little light the glowing coals of their cigarettes gave, did not waver. He ceased smoking, and so did she. His cigarette dropped from his nerveless fingers. Quickly he flung an arm about her and drew her toward him, holding her close, breathlessly. The perfume of her hair got into his brain, and deadened all but the consciousness of her nearness. She did not resist his impulse, but lay calm in his arms, her face upturned, her eyes melting, gazing into his. "Dearest," he murmured--"dearest--dearest--" "Kiss me--kiss me--Jack." The whisper was like the faint moving of young leaves in the forest. He bent his head.... Their lips met.... He saw the lids fall over her fathomless eyes like a curtain, and night became radiant day that instant love was born.... Suddenly he drew his arms away, rose and strode nervously into the hallway, leaving her in a crouching attitude upon the seat. She waited eagerly, voiceless. She perceived his figure between the _portières_ and heard him say: "I'm sorry--perhaps I must ask you to forgive me--I know I've been a fool--I shall go now----" She glided toward him with a silent, undulating movement. He felt irresistibly impelled to meet her. Afterward he recalled how he had struggled that moment; had fought; had lost. He felt her cool, soft arms against his cheeks. "Don't go,--Jack," she whispered. He raised his hands and seized her wrists as though to fling her from him. "Why?" he muttered hoarsely. "Because,"--her face was hidden against his shoulder and her voice was faint--"because--I don't want you to." She flung back her head then and he looked down into her face, and kissed her. He kissed her many times, upon the forehead, lips and eyes, while she clung to him, murmuring fondly. He wrenched himself from her close embrace, at last, and rushing into the hallway, snatched his coat from the chair where she had flung it. Standing passively where he had left her, Florence heard the outer door slam, followed by his swift tread upon the walk and the click as the gate latched.... Then there was silence. For a long time she stood there, one hand clutching the back of a quaint, old-fashioned chair. A shudder passed over her. She went to the window and looked out, but in the darkness of the street she could see nothing but the vague outlines of the houses across the way and a blot where the lilac-bush was in the yard.