hed themselves away
now--only to clasp his neck. And now her lips had touched his again and
again and somehow between kiss and kiss, she was murmuring, "Oh, I love
you--I love you--I love you. I love you so much that life without you
is a perfect misery. I love you so much that my work now seems stale
and dreary. I love you so much that I don't want ever to go away from
you. I want to stay here forever and feel your arms about me, for that
is the only way that I shall ever know happiness--or peace. I wake in
the morning with your name on my lips. I wander through the day with
you. If I try to read, you come between me and the page. If I try to
play you come between me and the notes. You are my books. You are my
music--my--my--everything. I go to bed early at night often so that I
can lie in the dusk and think of you. And oh, the only nights that rest
me are those filled with dreams of the poem we would make out of
life--if--if--"

Her voice faltered and he felt the exquisite caress of her lips
trembling against his cheek. As though she were utterly spent, she
ended where she had begun, "I love you--I love--I love you."

He was aware now that another car whirred behind them. He managed--it
took all the force in his soul--to put her from him. He turned to see
if they had been observed; the passengers in the other car, intent on
their own chatter, did not look; only the chauffeur regarded their
chassis with a professional eye, as though wondering if they were
stalled. When Blake drew a long breath and looked back at Annette, her
face was buried in her hands. And now, when he touched her, she drew
slowly away.

"Oh, drive on--drive on!" she said.

"Oh, Annette--dearest."

"Don't speak. I beg you--drive on or I shall die!"

And though the car wavered dangerously under his unsteady touch, he
obeyed, managed to gain the highroad without a spill, and to turn
north.

She wept silently. When at last she took her hands away and turned her
face on him, his lover's observation saw how beautifully she wept. Her
eyes were not red, her face was calm. He took heart from her glance,
began to babble foolish love words. But she stopped him.

"You are driving away from home," she said. "Drive back, and don't
speak yet."

After he had turned, her tears ceased. She dried her eyes. Now she
smiled a little, and her voice grew natural.

"I must never be weak again," she said. "But it was sweet. Dear, might
I touch your arm? No, you