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Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock.
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