Then her hand slid hesitatingly upon my shoulder, as it had once before.
Her head nestled back in the hollow of my arm. I bent close. Our lips
met.
We said many things. It hardly matters now what they were.
Excepting this. She held my face in her two hands and looked into my
eyes.
“Dear, dear boy,” she said, “you have lived all your life with theories.
Don't you think it is time you lived with a fact. For I'm afraid that's
what I am--a fact. And facts are stubborn things, Anthony.”
But then she worried a little. “You must n't let me sweep you off your
feet, Anthony. We must sit up and think. We must decide this thing.”
So she sat up straight. And I leaned back, still kneeling beside her.