“Oh, I’m so frightened!” she breathed, and he felt her tremble.  “A drunken man frightens me—­” Involuntarily she hid her face against his breast, then laughed nervously.  “Don’t mind me, please.  It’s the one thing I can’t stand.  I’ll be all right in a moment.”  She lifted her white face, and her eyes were luminous in the gloom.  “I’m very glad you don’t drink.”  Her hand crept up to the lapel of his coat.  “What will you think of me?” she said, tremulously.

Before he realized what he was doing his arms had closed around her and his lips had met hers.  It may have been the romance of the night, the solitude, the intoxicating warmth of her breath—­at any rate, he lost his head and knew nothing save that she was a woman and he a man.  As for her, she offered no resistance, made no sign beyond a startled sigh as their lips came together.

But, impulsive as his action had been, it was no more sudden than his recoil.  He released her and stepped back, crying: 

“Oh, my God!  I—­I didn’t mean that.  Forgive me.  Please.”  She said nothing, and he stammered desperately again:  “You’ll hate me now, of course, but—­I don’t know what ails me.  I forgot myself—­you—­ everything.  It was unpardonable, and I ought to be shot.”  He started off down the blind street, his whole body cold with apprehension and self-disgust.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“I don’t know.  I can’t stay here now.  Oh, Mrs. Cortlandt, what can I say?”

“Do you intend to leave me here in the middle of this—­”

“No, no!  Of course not.  I’m rattled, that’s all.  I’ve just got a cowardly desire to flee and butt my head against the nearest wall.  That’s what I ought to do.  I don’t know what possessed me.  I don’t know what you’ll think of me.”

“We won’t speak of it now.  Try to compose yourself and find our lodging-place.”

“Why, yes, of course.  I’ll see that you’re fixed up comfortably and then I’ll get out.”

“Oh, you mustn’t leave me!” she cried in a panic.  “I couldn’t stay in that awful place alone.”  She drew a little nearer to him as if demanding his protection.

A wave of tenderness swept over him.  She was just a girl, after all, he reflected, and if it were not for what had happened a moment before the most natural thing in the world would be to take her in his arms and comfort her.

“I—­I won’t leave you—­I’ll stay near you,” he stammered.

But as they trudged along together through the dark his chagrin returned in full force.  Mrs. Cortlandt maintained a distressing silence, and he could not see her face.  Presently he began to plead brokenly for forgiveness, stumbling in the effort not to offend her further and feeling that he was making matters worse with every word he uttered.  For a long time she made no reply, but at last she said: 

“Do you think I ought ever to see you again after this?”