He laughed more, as he kissed her delicate, finely perfumed hair.

‘Do you love me?’ she whispered, in wild seriousness.

‘Yes,’ he answered, laughing.

Suddenly she lifted her mouth to be kissed. Her lips were taut and quivering and strenuous, his were soft, deep and delicate. He waited a few moments in the kiss. Then a shade of sadness went over his soul.

‘Your mouth is so hard,’ he said, in faint reproach.

‘And yours is so soft and nice,’ she said gladly.

‘But why do you always grip your lips?’ he asked, regretful.

‘Never mind,’ she said swiftly.