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“I’ve chosen the place and the play. And you always give me melon because I like it so. And why have you asked me so many, many times?”

“To please myself. You’re a congenial soul.”

Patricia turned and lifted a beautiful leg.

“Can you see?” she demanded, pointing.

“I see your ankle, Pat, and your little foot.”

The girl leaned back against the stone balustrade.

“I dress to please you,” she said. “Even to-night. I put on light stockings to-night, when I should have worn dark. I like dark better, and I’d ’ve been more in the mode. But you like me in light stockings, Simon, and so I put them on.... I may be only congenial. I hope to God I am. You’ll get off lighter then. But ... Well, Simon, it’s pretty obvious that I love you.”

The man’s arms were about her, and his cheek pressed tight against hers.

“Pat, Pat, my precious, you know I’ve been covering up. You know I’m mad about you and always have been. And you know that whatever happens there’ll never be anyone else as long as I live.”

He breathed the words rather than spoke them. His tone, touch, frame were vibrant as any wire.