"Give me your hand
I'll understand
We're off to slumberland."
Isabelle hummed it softly and trembled as she felt Amory's hand close over hers.
"Isabelle," he whispered. "You know I'm mad about you. You do give a darn about me."
"Yes."
"How much do you care—do you like any one better?"
"No." He could scarcely hear her, although he bent so near that he felt her breath against his cheek.
"Isabelle, I'm going back to college for six long months, and why shouldn't we—if I could only just have one thing to remember you by—"
"Close the door...." Her voice had just stirred so that he half wondered whether she had spoken at all. As he swung the door softly shut, the music seemed quivering just outside.
"Moonlight is bright,
Kiss me good night."
"When the eyes say one thing, and the tongue another, a practiced man relies on the language of the first." Ralph Waldo Emerson
