But then I trembled with emotion, and regretted greatly that I had perhaps been too forward. Supposing she were to get angry, and leave me. Suppose I were never to see her again. Ah, that miserable attire of mine! I waited despairingly for her reply. “You shall certainly not sit down by the door,” she says. She says it right down tenderly, and says accurately these words: “You shall certainly not sit down by the door.” We went up. Out on the lobby, where it was dark, she took hold of my hand, and led me on. There was no necessity for my being so quiet, she said, I could very well talk. We entered. Whilst she lit the candle--it was not a lamp she lit, but a candle--whilst she lit the candle, she said, with a little laugh: “But now you mustn’t look at me. Ugh! I am so ashamed, but I will never do it again.” “What will you never do again?” “I will never ... ugh ... no ... good gracious ... I will never kiss you again!” “Won’t you?” I said, and we both laughed. I stretched out my arms to her, and she glided away; slipped round to the other side of the table. We stood a while and gazed at one another; the candle stood right between us. “Try and catch me,” she said; and with much laughter I tried to seize hold of her. Whilst she sprang about, she loosened her veil, and took off her hat; her sparkling eyes hung on mine, and watched my movements. I made a fresh sortie, and tripped on the carpet and fell, my sore foot refusing to bear me up any longer. I rose in extreme confusion. “Lord, how red you did get!” she said. “Well, it was awfully awkward of you.” “Yes, it was,” I agreed, and we began the chase afresh. “It seems to me you limp.” “Yes; perhaps I do--just a little--only just a little, for that matter.” “Last time you had a sore finger, now you have got a sore foot; it is awful the number of afflictions you have.” “Ah, yes. I was run over slightly, a few days ago.”