It came about suddenly, and entirely without
premeditation.
The two had escaped for a breath of air late in the evening.
Following the conventions, they merely strolled to the end of the
block and back, always within sight of the house. Fifth Avenue was
gay with illumination and the prancing of horses returning uptown or
down to the Washington Square district. In contrast the side
street, with its austere rows of brownstone houses, each with its
area and flight of steps, its spaced gas lamps, its deserted
roadway, seemed very still and quiet. Carroll was in a tired and
pensive mood. She held her head back, breathing deeply.
"It's only a little strip, but it's the stars," said she, looking up
to the sky between the houses. "They're so quiet and calm and big."
She seemed to Orde for the first time like a little girl. The
maturer complexities which we put on with years, with experience,
and with the knowledge of life had for the moment fallen from her,
leaving merely the simple soul of childhood gazing in its eternal
wonder at the stars. A wave of tenderness lifted Orde from his
feet. He leaned over, his breath coming quickly.
"Carroll!" he said.
She looked up at him, and shrank back.
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