THE BRASS BOWL
He shook his head, careful to restrain the twitching corners of his lips.
"It will take but a moment," he urged gravely. "And I'll be quite careful."
"Well" She perceived that, if not right, he was stubborn; and with a final small gesture of deprecation, weakly surrendered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance," she murmured, rising and gathering skirts about her.
Maitland stoutly denied the hideous insinuation: "I am only too glad"
She balanced herself lightly upon the step. He moved nearer and assured himself of a firm foothold on the pebbly river-bed. She sank gracefully into his arms, proving a considerable burden—weightier, in fact, than he had anticipated. He was somewhat staggered; it seemed that he embraced countless yards of ruffles and things ballasted with (at a shrewd guess) lead. He swayed.
Then, recovering his equilibrium, incautiously glanced into her eyes. And lost it again, completely.
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