It was already past the hour and he had begun to
be impatient, though he was sure she had received the note.
A cobweb in the grass at his feet shone faintly afar--like Isabel's
spangles, he thought. A soft-winged wayfarer of the night brushed
lightly against his cheek in passing, and he laughed aloud, to think
that a grey moth should bring the memory of a kiss. Then, with a swift
sinking of the heart, he remembered Isabel's unvarying coldness. Never
for an instant had she answered him as Rose--
"Nonsense," he muttered to himself, angrily. "What an unspeakable cad I
am!"
There was a light step on the path and Isabel appeared out of the
shadows. She was holding up her skirts and seemed annoyed. In the first
glance Allison noted that she was not wearing the spangled gown.
She submitted to his eager embrace and endured his kiss; even the
blindest lover could not have said more. Yet her coldness only thrilled
him to the depths with love of her, as has been the way of men since the
world began.
"I don't understand this foolishness," she said, fretfully, as she
released herself from his encircling arm.
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