And there, on their knees under the stars, he touched her full child-like lips with his; and, laughing, she let him kiss her again—­but not a third time, swaying back from her knees to avoid him, then rising lithely to her feet.

“The poor nymph and the great god Kelly!” she said; “a new hero for the pantheon:  a new dryad to weep over.  Kelly, I believe your story of your golden cloud, now.”

“Didn’t you credit it before?”

“No.”

“But now that I’ve kissed you, you do believe it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then to fix that belief more firmly—­”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t, Kelly—­” she cried, her soft voice hinting of hidden laughter.  “I’m quite sure that my belief is very firmly fixed.  Hear me recite my creed.  Credo!  I believe that you are the great god Kelly, perfectly capable of travelling about wrapped in a golden cloud—­”

“You are mocking at the gods!”

“No, I’m not.  Who am I to affront Olympus?...  Wh-what are you going to do, Kelly?  Fly to the sacred mount with me?”

But she suffered his arm to remain around her waist as they moved slowly on through the darkness.

“How long are you going to stay?  Tell me, Louis.  I’m as tragically curious as Pandora and Psyche and Bluebeard’s wife, melted into the one and eternal feminine.”

“I’m going to-morrow.”

“Oh-h,” she said, softly.

He was silent.  They walked on, she with her head bent a little.

“Didn’t you want me to?” he asked at length.

“Not if you care to stay....  I never want what those I care for are indifferent about.”

“I am not indifferent.  I think I had better go.”

“Is the reason important?”

“I don’t know, Valerie—­I don’t really know.”

He was thinking of this new and sweet familiarity—­something suddenly born into being under the wide stars—­something that had not been a moment since, and now was—­something invoked by the vastness of earth and sky—­something confirmed by the wind in the forest.

“I had better go,” he said.

Her silence acquiesced; they turned into the ragged lawn, ascended the dew-wet steps; and then he released her waist.

The hallways were dark and deserted as they mounted the stairs side by side.

“This is my door,” she said.

“Mine is on the next floor.”

“Then—­good night, Louis.”

He took her hand in silence.  After a moment she released it; laid both hands lightly on his shoulders, lifted her face and kissed him.

“Good night,” she said.  “You have made this a very happy day in my life.  Shall I see you in the morning?”

“I’m afraid not.  I left word to have a horse ready at daylight.  It is not far from that, now.”

“Then I shall not see you again?”

“Not until you come to New York.”

“Couldn’t you come back for a day?  Querida is coming.  Sammy and Harry Annan are coming up over Sunday.  Couldn’t you?”