"This is very foolish of me," she said, and throwing her arm about his neck, she kissed him on the mouth. "But you are fond of me?" she said impulsively, laying her hand on his shoulder. It was a movement full of affectionate intimacy. "Yes," he said, moving her face again towards him. "I love you, I've always loved you." "No," she said, "you didn't, not always; I know when you began to care for me." "When?" "When you returned from Greece, at the moment when you said you wanted me to like you. Is it not true?" Owen dared not tell her that it was at the moment of kissing her that he had really begun to love her. In that moment he had entered into her atmosphere; it was fragrant as a flower, and it had decided him to use every effort to become her lover. "No," she said, "you must not kiss me again." She got up from the low wicker chair; he followed her, and they sat close together on two low seats. He put his arm round her and said-- "I love to kiss you.... Why do you turn away your head?" "Because it is wrong; I shall be miserable to-night." "You don't think it wrong to kiss me?" "Yes, I do." Then turning her face to his, she kissed him. "Who taught you to kiss like that?" "No one, I never kissed anyone before--father, of course. You know what I mean." "She'll be an adorable mistress," he thought, "and in four years the greatest singer in England. I shall get very fond of her. I like her very much as it is, and when she gets over her religious scruples--when I've reformed her--she'll be enchanting. It is lucky she met me; without me she'd have come to nothing." She asked him what he was thinking about, and he answered of the happiness he had begun to feel was in store for them. "What happiness?" she asked; and he answered-- "The happiness of seeing each other constantly--the happiness of lovers. Now we must see each other more often." "How often? Every day?" He wondered what was the exact colour of her eyes, and he pressed her to answer. At last she said-- "You cannot come here oftener than you do at present. I'm deceiving father about these lessons. What will you do if he asks you to play to him? What excuse will you give? You daren't attempt the simplest exercise, you haven't got over the difference of the bowing; you'd play false notes all the time." "Yes," he said; "I've not made much progress, have I?" "No, you haven't; but that isn't my fault." "But the days I don't see you seem so long!" "Do you think they do not seem long to me? I've nothing to think about but you." "Then, on your weariest days, come and see me. We can always see each other in Berkeley Square. Send me a wire saying you are coming." "I could not come to see you," she said, still looking at him fixedly; "you know that I could not.... Then why do you ask me?" "Because I want you." "You know that I'd like to come." "Then, if you do, you'll come. I don't believe in temptations that we don't yield to."