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Spires and Gargoyles
"Moonlightisbright,
Kissmegoodnight."
Whatawonderfulsong,shethought—everythingwaswonderfulto-night,mostofallthisromanticsceneintheden,withtheirhandsclingingandtheinevitableloomingcharminglyclose.Thefuturevistaofherlifeseemedanunendingsuccessionofsceneslikethis:undermoonlightandpalestarlight,andinthebacksofwarmlimousinesandinlow,cosyroadstersstoppedundershelteringtrees—onlytheboymightchange,andthisonewassonice.Hetookherhandsoftly.Withasuddenmovementheturneditand,holdingittohislips,kissedthepalm.
"Isabelle!"Hiswhisperblendedinthemusic,andtheyseemedtofloatnearertogether.Herbreathcamefaster."Can’tIkissyou,Isabelle—Isabelle?"Lipshalfparted,sheturnedherheadtohiminthedark.Suddenlytheringofvoices,thesoundofrunningfootstepssurgedtowardthem.QuickasaflashAmoryreachedupandturnedonthelight,andwhenthedooropenedandthreeboys,thewrathyanddance-cravingFroggyamongthem,rushedin,hewasturningoverthemagazinesonthetable,whileshesatwithoutmoving,sereneandunembarrassed,andevengreetedthemwithawelcomingsmile.Butherheartwasbeatingwildly,andshefeltsomehowasifshehadbeendeprived.
Itwasevidentlyover.Therewasaclamorforadance,therewasaglancethatpassedbetweenthem—onhissidedespair,onhersregret,andthentheeveningwenton,withthereassuredbeauxandtheeternalcuttingin.
