"
He flushed crimson.
"Didn't you like it?" he asked, with the terrible simplicity of
his youth.
For all her trouble, she had to bite her lip to hide a smile.
What a question to ask--just in so many words!
"It was very, very wicked, and, of course, I didn't like it,"
she answered. "Oh, Harry! don't you know how wicked it was?"
"Oh, yes! I know that, of course," said he, picking at the straw
of his hat, which he was carrying in his hand.
"Well, then!" she said.
"I couldn't help it."
"You must help it. Oh, don't you know--oh, it's absurd! I'm
years older than you."
"You looked so--so awfully pretty."
"I can't stand talking to you. They'll all see."
"Oh, it's all right. You're a friend of mother's, you know. I
say, when shall I be able to see you again--alone, you know?"
Mrs. Mortimer was within an ace of a burst of tears. He seemed
not to know that he made her faint with shame, and mad with
exultation, and bewildered with terror all in a moment. His new
manhood took no heed, save of itself. Was this being out of
harm's way, under the eyes of those poor blind parents?
"If--if you care the least for me--for what I wish, go away,
Harry," she whispered.
He looked at her in wonder, but, with a frown on his face, did as
he was told. Five minutes later he was playing again; she heard
him shout "Thirty--love," as he served, a note of triumphant
battle in his voice.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29