He rather reluctantly poured her out a very small drink, as he was far from sure whether or not the Doctor would approve. Lola, up to now, had always shown the most complete distaste for any sort of liquor, a distaste which she really felt; which any healthy young person would feel were it not for the vague general impression that somewhere in the drops of liquor is hidden some hint of romance, some glimpse of mysterious knowledge; the desire of the unknown. "How very generous," remarked Lola, looking at the few amber drops in the bottom of her glass. "Quite enough to begin with," replied John, and he watched her curiously as she put the glass to her lips, and laughed heartily as he saw her gasp and the tears come to her eyes. "Well?" he questioned. "I don't like it." "Of course you don't." "Do you? Does anyone?" "I think not, Lola. Not at first, anyway. It is the physical excitement, the stimulation." "I think I understand," she spoke dreamily, thoughtfully, for she had often wondered lately why so many people seemed to care so much for a thing that had never meant anything at all to her, so little that up to that very moment she had not even been curious. "To change, if only for a moment the deadly monotony of things. To have another emotion, a new sensation. You will have to make me cocktails when we are married, John." "Well, I----" "You must! I want to learn everything. I am tired of being just a girl. Isn't there anything else in life but to sit here with you and father, and his friends? Are our hearts always going to beat on, one-two, one-two, like the ticking of a clock? You say you love me, but you are as cold as ice!" She drew close and looked up at him queerly. Her eyes now were not the eyes he knew so well, calm and grave, or smiling; they were deeper, he thought; deeper, more beautiful, but--they seemed to fascinate him; he felt himself grow dizzy; the blood leaped in his veins and pounded in his heart. He put his arms about her and drew her close--close. She smiled now, with a smile he had never seen on her face before. It made her look older, wiser. How beautiful she was. She was a woman, no longer a girl, and all her beauty was his. His! "You say you love me," she whispered quickly, with a note in her voice new to him, but strangely thrilling. "If you want to keep my love you must make me mad for you. Are you made of flesh and blood? Come! Kiss me!" He kissed her. Kissed her with a depth of passion such as he had never dreamed of, and for a moment she returned his kiss, then relaxed and lay half fainting in his arms, then releasing herself with a low laugh she stepped away from him. "There! That's different. I do love you, John, more than I thought I did." "Lola!" He tried to take her in his arms again, but she laughingly avoided him, going around the table, her eyes still challenging him to follow.