She did not realize that
all her dreams of a splendid Lover had become mixed up with the family
legend about "taking the man she needed" and had crystallized round
Louis, the first man to waken physical passion for her.
In a warm rapture up here on the house-top in the still night air her
conscious mind went to sleep; she lived her dreams. And Louis did not
understand; out of the reach of temptation for three weeks, he felt very
strong; her tenderness, her passionate love flattered him: he became a
very fine fellow indeed in his own eyes as he lay there, half asleep,
under the silver and purple of the midnight sky. He must be a very fine
fellow--so he argued--if she could love him. She had won his reluctant
admiration long before she had wakened his love.
"She's a queer stick," he told himself drowsily, "and a perfect darling.
Lord, the way she shook the life out of me that night at Naples! Just
because I mentioned her bally old father. I believe--I really believe,
in spite of her being in the steerage--that she's pretty well born! And
the way she stuck Ole Fred in the water without turning a hair. And got
fifty quid out of her uncle as easy as falling off a log! Lord, I've
never raised more than a fiver out of an uncle in my life--and that on a
birthday."
He felt for her hand and held it drowsily.
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