She led him to her seat, giving him none, but sitting with her arm
around him, as he stood at her side.
"You are my little lover, aren't you?" she said, with an embrace.
"Not so very little!" responded Harry, with a flush.
"Well, you love me, don't you?"
"Perhaps I do," replied he, looking smilingly into her eyes.
"You are a rogue, sir."
"I'm not a bad rogue."
"Kiss me."
Harry put his arms around Mrs. Dillingham's neck and kissed her, and
received a long, passionate embrace in return, in which her starved
heart expressed the best of its powerful nature.
Nor clouds nor low-born vapors drop the dew. It only gathers under a
pure heaven and the tender eyes of stars. Mrs. Dillingham had always
held a heart that could respond to the touch of a child. It was dark,
its ways were crooked, it was not a happy heart, but for the moment her
whole nature was flooded with a tender passion. A flash of lightning
from heaven makes the darkest night its own, and gilds with glory the
uncouth shapes that grope and crawl beneath its cover.
"And your name is Harry?" she said.
"Yes."
"Do you mind telling me about yourself?"
Harry hesitated. He knew that he ought not to do it.
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