She detected his meaning just as she had detected the coldness in his voice as they came down towards the Gardens together a short while before. She detected his meaning, and answered him sharply, and the words of her defence and the manner of it broke out in him the second of the two emotions that followed his caprice.
"Well, what's the odds to it if they have?" said Essie, sitting up very straight and speaking very tensely. "Where's the harm? It's only fun. Not as if I had a proper young fellow of my own. Take jolly good care if I had! Where's the harm? I like being kissed. I like to think some one's fond of me."
Now, for all the sharpness of her tone, she looked appealing: a trifle of a flutter in those expressive lips of hers: a hint of a catch in her voice. Swiftly to Mr. Wriford came his second emotion. Poor little Essie that liked to think some one was fond of her! Jolly little Essie with her "Let's have a laugh!" Here was the kindest, cheeriest little creature in the world! Let him enjoy it!
"That's all right, Essie," said Mr. Wriford and moved to her again and took her brown little hand.
"Glad you think so, I'm sure!" said Essie. "That's my hand, if you've no objection," and she withdrew it.
Mr. Wriford took it again and held it while it wriggled. "Come, who's the crosspatch now?"
"Well, that's nice!" cried Essie. "I'm sure I'm not."
"Put your fingers like you had them when we walked up. That's the way of it. This little one there and that little one there."
"Oh, go on!" said Essie, but settled her fingers as she was told.
"Rather nice just now, don't you think?" said Mr. Wriford.