David had drawn up to his place again. He held Vestalia’s hands in his at this juncture, somehow, and the enchanted table narrowed itself until there was no barrier of space between their lips. The little kiss sweetened the air. The two, even while they exchanged a glance of shy surprise, thought of it with reverence. They instinctively gave to its contemplation a moment of tender silence. “How shrewd you were in discerning my leaven of savagery,” he remarked at last. “Or leaven? we’d better say principal ingredient!” “I like you that way,” said Vestalia, quietly. He smiled at her in dreamy incredulity. “I wonder if you do,” he mused. “They say women do like men who beat them. The police courts seem to support the idea. But there is a difficulty, you see. If you liked me because I behaved badly to you, then I should dislike you on precisely that account. So you mustn’t suggest approbation. No, I was very rude and stupid, and I am profoundly ashamed of myself. I should be ashamed to offer an excuse, too, if it were not just the one it is. I happen to be head over heels in love with you, dear little lady.” “And precisely what is that an excuse for?” demanded the girl, with a fine show of ingenuous calm. “For letting my luncheon get cold,” he replied, taking up his fork. With the laughter of pleased children, they resumed the broken course of the meal. “It doesn’t begin to be as nice as _your_ breakfast,” she commented after a little. “I don’t think it is a day for things to eat,” he said, pushing the plate aside. “I want to do nothing but just look at you--perhaps talk a little--but hear you talk much more. I am conscious of an indefinite hunger for the mere visual charm of you, sitting there opposite me. It seems as if it would take years to satisfy that alone. Do you know that you are very beautiful, dear, in your new clothes?” She regarded his face with a keen, almost anxious glance, before she let the softer look dominate her own. “I am going to hurry to tell you where I got them,” she said. “They are the gift of my uncle--my father’s brother. This was what I was beginning to explain when--when you got so unhappy.” “Yes--that is the merciful word--unhappy,” he assented, with gratitude. “I have been deeply out of sorts--mentally--since I lost you that night. There is a special devil inside of me, Vestalia, who sometimes lies low for long periods, and hardly reminds me of his existence, but since last Thursday he has been out on the war-path, night and day. My nerves are stretched like fiddle-strings, just with the effort of holding him. The sight of you is death to him, dear. He is gone now--clean out of existence. And while you stay, he won’t return. But the wretch has left me tired and a little tremulous. I want to rest myself by just looking at you.”