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under the moon, and castanets, and champagne in a silver goblet. 'The kind of a woman men think of with a little corner of their minds when they're kissing their wives'—that was one line I remember. Silly or not?" he finished, laughing. "A fellow all goofy with loving somebody is certainly a pitiful object."

"That's not silly," Yvonne said. "It's beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing that's been said to me in ages, because—well, because you mean it, don't you?"

"Mean it? I—" He choked, and speechless, bent to press his lips to the hollow of her throat that showed where the fur curved away in gleaming wings, "You're so wonderful," he cried brokenly. "You're meat and wine, do you know it? I love everything about you. Your eyes. They're like gray cloud, and wise. I'm afraid of you sometimes, your eyes know so many things. And your marvelous hair, and your skin—so soft, Yvonne—baby skin. And that dimple in one cheek without any in the other—lopsided, it fascinates me. And I love the way you catch your lower lip with your teeth when you're thinking hard about something. And you're just tall enough—just right, Yvonne! That's what I kept thinking the first time I saw you. So right. Everything about you is just exactly what it ought to be. And your voice—I hear it often in the night, or I think I do. I'm crazy about it, it's so different. Deep, and a little bit husky, as though you'd have to give a little cough in a minute, only that minute never quite comes. Remember the night I met you, and we went for a ride, and you sang? I could never describe how I felt. I wanted to cry and yell, and yet I didn't want to do anything but keep still and listen. And yearn. I—I just yearned for something terribly, all the while you were singing. I didn't know what it was, but I knew I wanted it so, I