 | Tales of the jazz age |  |
VII
July under the lee of the diamond mountain was a
month of blanket nights and of warm, glowing days.
John and Kismine were in love. He did not know that
the little gold football (inscribed with the legend Pro
deo et patria et St. Mida) which he had given her
rested on a platinum chain next to her bosom. But it
did. And she for her part was not aware that a large
sapphire which had dropped one day from her simple
coiffure was stowed away tenderly in John's jewel box.
Late one afternoon when the ruby and ermine music
room was quiet, they spent an hour there together. He
held her hand and she gave him such a look that he whispered
her name aloud. She bent toward him—then
hesitated.
"Did you say `Kismine'?" she asked softly, "or—"
She had wanted to be sure. She thought she might
have misunderstood.
Neither of them had ever kissed before, but in the
course of an hour it seemed to make little difference.
The afternoon drifted away. That night when a last
breath of music drifted down from the highest tower,
they each lay awake, happily dreaming over the separate
minutes of the day. They had decided to be married
as soon as possible.
| Tales of the jazz age | |