tting the door behind her. As it closed
Giovanni caught Angela's left hand and drew it to him. She laid her
right on his, quietly and affectionately.

'Am I never to see you alone?' he asked, almost in a whisper.

'When you come to say good-bye before starting,' Angela answered. 'I
will ask her to leave us quite alone then. But now it will only be for
a minute or two.'

Thereupon, with the most natural movement in the world, she lifted her
hands, brought his face close to hers and kissed him, drew back a
little, looked gravely into his astonished eyes for some seconds, and
then kissed him again.

'I love you much more than you love me,' she said with great
seriousness. 'I am sure of it.'

It was all very different from what he had expected. He had vaguely
fancied that for a long time every kiss would have to be won from her
by a little struggle, and that every admission of her love would be
the reward of his own eloquence; instead, she took the lead herself
with a simplicity that touched him more than anything else could have
done.

'You see!' she cried, with the intonation of a laugh not far away. 'I
took you by surprise, because I am right about it! What have you to
say?'

He said nothing, but his lips hurt hers a little in the silence. She
shivered slightly, for she had not yet dreamed that a kiss could hurt
and yet be too short. The sound of Madame Bernard's voice came from
the next room, still talking to the parrot. Angela laid her hand on
Giovanni's gold-laced sleeve and nestled beside him, with her head in
the hollow of his shoulder.

'I have always wanted to do this,' she said in a drowsy little voice,
as if she wished she could go to sleep where she was. 'It is my place.
When you are away in Africa, at night, under the stars, you will dream
that I am just here, resting in my very own place.'

She felt his warm breath in her hair as he answered.

'I will not go; I will not leave you.'

'But you must,' she said, quickly straightening herself and looking
into his face. 'I should not love you as I do, if I could bear to
think of your staying here, to let men laugh at you, as you say they
would!'

'It is not like resigning on the day after war is declared!' he
retorted, trying to speak lightly.

'It is!' she cried, with a sort of eager anxiety in her voice. 'There
is only a difference in the degree--and perhaps it is worse! If there
were war, you would be one man in a hundred thousand, but now you