light and pleasure and glow of life, as it stood, the only brilliant
thing in that cold north room.

And it might be mine, might have belonged to me long since if . . .
well if . . . that was just it.

I made a step forward and she turned.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come," she said, laying her hand in mine. "I
want you so much."

We shook hands.

Although we were cousins, and had been engaged for the last two
years, this was our invariable method of greeting and leave-taking.

I had never kissed her, nor was I sure whether I ever really desired
to.

There were times when the thought that precedes the impulse or the
impulse that gives birth to the thought came to me, but always when
I was away from her and not with her, and consequently the desire
culminated in nothing.

When I was actually beside her all my own feelings seemed suddenly
held in suspension, just as one stops with feet chained when one
discovers one has come abruptly upon sacred ground.

There had been times when I had hurried to this girl with words
eager to be spoken on my lips, and at the first sight of her they