He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. “I am going to America. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. "Perhaps that would have been best. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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