"Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. “Oh, we are also under the spell,” he declared, “but I think that we are here mainly because it is cheap. When he begins to notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Nevertheless though nearly six feet high, and correspondingly proportioned, she was a model of symmetry, and boasted, with the frame of a Thalestris or a Trulla, the regular lineaments of the Medicean Venus. "Oh, I've read that!" Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation; but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrase had been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend of his own unhappy thoughts.
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