A
sudden strong but inexplicable impulse moved Tinker; he bent forward
and kissed her on the lips.
While you might count a score the children stood quite still, staring
at one another with eyes luminous in the starlight. Elsie's face was
one pink flush, and Tinker was scarlet.
"That--that was a very funny kiss," she said in a curious voice.
"Oh, what's a kiss?" said Tinker, with forced bravado, consumed with
boyish shame for the lapse.
"I--I--liked it," said Elsie. "No one has kissed me since father
died." And her breath seemed to catch.
"Girls like kissing," said Tinker in a tone of a dispassionate
observer. Then he seemed to thrust the matter away from him with some
eagerness: and, slipping her arm through his, he said, "Come on, let's
walk up and down."
They walked up and down, chattering away, till eight o'clock. Then he
said, "My father will be expecting me; he dines at eight. Won't you
come too?"
"No, no, thank you. I must wait for Uncle Richard; I must really."
But her arm tightened round his involuntarily.
Tinker thought a while. The gardens were brighter now. The stars were
shining with their full radiance, and the lamps were alight, so that
even their retired corner was faintly bright.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156