"Yourself," he said, stretching out his right hand to her. And there he sat with it stretched out,--so that she found herself compelled to put her own into it, or to refuse to do so with very absolute words. Very slowly she put out her own, and gave it to him without looking at him. Then he drew her towards him, and in a moment she was kneeling at his feet, with her face buried on his knees. Considering their ages perhaps we must say that their attitude was awkward. They would certainly have thought so themselves had they imagined that any one could have seen them. But how many absurdities of the kind are not only held to be pleasant, but almost holy,--as long as they remain mysteries inspected by no profane eyes! It is not that Age is ashamed of feeling passion and acknowledging it,--but that the display of it is, without the graces of which Youth is proud, and which Age regrets.

"Yourself," he said, stretching out his right hand to her. She found herself compelled to put her own, very slowly, into it. Then he drew her towards him, and in a moment she was kneeling at his feet, with her face buried on his knees. Considering their ages perhaps we must say that their attitude was awkward. But Age is not ashamed of feeling passion - it is only the public display of it which Age regrets.
