Alan led her to a grassy bank where thyme and basil grew matted,
and the hum of myriad wings stirred the sultry air; Herminia let
him lead her. She was woman enough by nature to like being led;
only, it must be the right man who led her, and he must lead her
along the path that her conscience approved of. Alan seated
himself by her side, and took her hand in his; Herminia let him
hold it. This lovemaking was pure honey. Dappled spots of light
and shade flecked the ground beneath the trees like a jaguar's
skin. Wood-pigeons crooned, unseen, from the leafy covert. She
sat there long without uttering a word. Once Alan essayed to
speak, but Herminia cut him short. "Oh, no, not yet," she cried
half petulantly; "this silence is so delicious. I love best just
to sit and hold your hand like this. Why spoil it with language?"
So they sat for some minutes, Herminia with her eyes half-closed,
drinking in to the full the delight of first love. She could feel
her heart beating. At last Alan interposed, and began to speak to
her. The girl drew a long breath; then she sighed for a second, as
she opened her eyes again.
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