She pulled his face downwards with her tiny hands, and ran her fingers through his hair. The sensation made him laugh as he slipped his arms under hers and drew her upwards until their lips met. In the darkness he could hear the beating of their hearts, and the silence singing in his ears. CHAPTER IV Annie had been upstairs three times that morning to see if Mr. Dean's shoes had been taken inside his room. But the door was still closed and the shoes on the mat outside. At last she gave away her secret hero. "Mr. Dean's not up yet," she said reluctantly to Mrs. Perdie, as she came downstairs to the kitchen. "Shall I keep his breakfast 'ot?" "What?--not down? Why it's half past ten! Have you cleared away yet?" cried Mrs. Perdie, emerging wet-handed from the scullery and a brisk encounter with saucepans. "We can't keep breakfast going into lunch time." Annie halted, she did not expect an order that would deprive her favourite of his breakfast. "You'd better take it up on a tray to his room," said Mrs. Perdie, relenting--"and I'll speak to him when he comes down." She disappeared again into the scullery where she thought long on the ways of young men and how cruelly the wicked city corrupted them. Lying in bed late had been the first sign of Mr. Perdie's breakdown. Once a man began to lie late, his backbone went, of that there was no question. She tolerated such a thing with de Courtrai and Wellington on the top floor. It was in keeping with their characters. Weedy young men in a fast profession might be expected to lie in bed in the morning, even at the cost of losing breakfast. Strange to say, the one who suffered most, Annie, who carried up the breakfast, grumbled least. She tapped, gently at Mr. Dean's door, to absolve her conscience, but not to wake him, then she tiptoed in. He was fast asleep--though she could see very little of him, with his head buried in the pillow and the sheets hunched up round his shoulders. Cautiously she drew up the blind and flooded the room with light. Then she placed a small table at the side of the bed. Still he slept. For a few moments she stood in romantic contemplation of his tousled head, with its ravelled locks. How lovely he looked, with his boyish colour and his strong throat. His pyjama jacket, unbuttoned, gave a glimpse of a strong chest. Greatly daring, she leaned forward. Just once she would do it--she might never have the chance again--and oh, she had wanted to, so many times. Often she had longed he would just come and put his arms round her and kiss her fiercely--she wouldn't have minded if he had been cruel even. She stooped and very lightly kissed his hair, just where it fell in a mass to one side of his brow, and she felt her very heart would betray her. But he slept on, unconscious of all the love poured out over him. Softly Annie went out. She halted on the threshold with the tray in her hand, flushed and trembling with excitement.