The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. ’ ‘Good. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. ’ ‘Well, let us leave your name for the present. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection.
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