"Why?" Barnabas inquired, very properly kissing the finger and
holding it there.
"Because I grow tired of fine phrases and empty compliments, and
because, sir--"
"Have you forgotten that my name is Barnabas?" he demanded, kissing
the captive finger again, whereupon it struggled--though very feebly,
to be sure.
"And because, Barnabas, you would be breaking your word."
"How?"
"You must only tell me--that, when 'the sun is shining, and friends
are within call,'--have you forgotten your own words so soon?"
Now, as she spoke Barnabas beheld the dimple--that most elusive
dimple, that came and went and came again, beside the scarlet lure
of her mouth; therefore he drew her nearer until he could look, for
a moment, into the depths of her eyes. But here, seeing the glowing
intensity of his gaze, becoming aware of the strong, compelling arm
about her, feeling the quiver of the hand that held her own, lo! in
that instant my lady, with her sly bewitchments, her coquettish airs
and graces, was gone, and in her place was the maid--quick-breathing,
blushing, trembling, all in a moment.
"Ah, no!" she pleaded, "Barnabas, no!" Then Barnabas sighed, and
loosed his clasp--but behold! the dimple was peeping at him again.
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