What was it made him dally thus upon dangerous ground? What was it made him speak to Lorraine as he had never spoken before, on the very day after his mother’s admonition? Why did his immense height and strength and the young vigour in his blood suddenly blot out the years that lay between them, and sweep into his soul, the knowledge of his masculinity and might, which of its own nature possessively dominated her femininity? They seemed all at once to have strayed into an atmosphere, born of that warning admonition, and of their talk, of the reckless, creative spring; and because, in spite of his youth, he was very much a man, and she was a dangerously attractive woman, his pulses leapt fitfully and eagerly with the swift ache that has existed ever since God made man and woman. Without looking up, Lorraine felt this. The very air about them seemed charged with it, and she too, under some spell of springtime, moved into closer proximity to the splendid knight. She brushed against his arm unconsciously; and looking down on the top of her dark head, he said half-shyly: “You somehow seem such a little thing today, Lorraine, I feel as if I could pick you up, as one does a small child.” “Please don’t,” with a low laugh—“just think of my dignity.” “But you are not dignified today. You seem as young and light-hearted as the springtime. I feel as if I must be years older than you.” She raised her face suddenly, with yearning eyes: “Oh, let us emulate the spring this once—let us both be young and foolish and real, and pretend there isn’t any one else in the world.” For one second he looked at her with wondering incredulity, then, with a tender little laugh he suddenly bent down and folded his arms round her till she seemed to vanish altogether into his embrace, and kissed her on the lips. “The scent of violets has intoxicated us,” he said, and kissed her again. Then he gently pushed her into her big, deep chair. “I’m going now. I only ran in to see how you were after that bad headache. You must bring the lilies and malmaisons back tomorrow, or I shall be offending so grievously you will forbid me the flat. Good-bye!” And without another word he went away out of the room. Lorraine sat quite still, and let the spell wrap her round for the precious moments that she could yet hold it. Of course it could not stay. In an hour at most she would be her old, brain-weary self again, with the best of her youth behind her; while he was still there on the threshold, young and strong and free. But even this one short hour was good. Life had not given her many such. She would fence it round with silence, and solitude, and the scent of violets. Alymer went out into the streets wondering at himself vaguely, and yet with a pleasant glow of memory. He felt it bewildering that Lorraine Vivian, whose favours were so eagerly sought by men, should have allowed him to kiss her.