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 other men were watching them and there was a tumult and a roar and a delirium. He smiled contentedly, thinking this. He would not have parted with this hour for any game that was ever played, or ever would be.

Generalities. Religion again, poetry, music, life and letters. Ever and anon he tried to swing the conversation around to more personal topics. Always Yvonne forestalled him.

Then, unexpectedly, she did it herself. There had been a little silence, and she said, "I have been thinking of you, Jock."

Jock answered, "I was thinking of you, too. I've been thinking of you to the exclusion of everyone and everything else, since the very first instant I saw you."

Yvonne turned her head and regarded him gravely. "Yes, that's true, isn't it," she observed after a while, as though she had made quite sure it was true. "Well, what have you been thinking?"

"Mostly in interrogation-points. Wondering who you are, and—and whether or not you're married."

"I'm not married."

She said this expressionlessly, as a person might say "I'm not tired" or "I'm not hungry." But it rang in Jock's ears like a pzan of happiness. It shook him from his lethargy. He felt of a sudden that he could not sit still—that he must rise and leap about and wave his arms like a madman for the sheer joy of it. "Oh, say that again!" he implored her.

Yvonne smiled at him. "Child!"

"I know—but say it!"

"I am not married."

They stared at one another for a long intense moment. Then Yvonne laid her fingers lightly across Jock's mouth, "Don't tell me what you're thinking