Swiftly she turned from the horse and faced
him. "What, Collie?" There was laughter in her eyes, a laughter that
challenged more than his serious mood. Her lips were smiling. Her chin
was tilted provokingly.
His eyes grew wide with unspoken love, unuttered longing. He delighted
in the delicious curve of her cheek, and of her arm resting on the
saddle. Her poise had an inexplicable suggestion of royal courage, as
though she were battling for more than her lips could utter. In her
absence he had adored her. Now he forgot all that he had meant to tell
her in the sensuous delight of her mere presence. But even that was not
enough. He dropped the pony's reins and strode toward her. Louise paled
even as he drew near, but he saw nothing but her eyes and her lips, lips
that curved wistfully, provoking tenderness and love. For an instant
Louise held her heart aloof.
"Let me just worship you--a little while--a little while," he whispered.
"Only a little while?" she breathed; and the soft rose glowed in her
cheeks.
"Just forever," he said.
And Louise Lacharme, more beautiful than the morning, Louise, his most
gracious senorita, his Madonna of the Rose, lifted her arms to him. Her
lips quivered like a child's, tremulous with longing to tell him
silently, as his lips found hers, all that her heart was giving and all
the wealth of love it yet should give.
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