midnight
The moment she stirred , his hands were locked again . `` Son of my heart -- I must ! '' `` One more kiss then -- for luck ! '' So she kissed him , for luck , and left him to his midnight browsings ... * * * * * Next morning she sat among her cushions in the studio , ostensibly reading a long letter from her father . Actually , her mind was intent on Nevil , who stood at his easel absorbed in fragmentary studies for a new picture -- flying draperies ; a man 's face cleverly fore-shortened . Though nearing fifty , he looked more like five-and-thirty ; his face singularly free of lines ; his fair hair scarcely showing the intrusion of grey . To her he seemed perennially young ; and dearer than ever -- if that could be -- as the years mellowed and deepened the love on which they had boldly staked everything that counted most for them both .