The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. I do want them. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. A paralyzing horror was upon her. No— no, it must never be. Do get your hat, and we will go to that corner café. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. “I must explain to her. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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