"But if I've given you a whit of the satisfaction that your plucky stand gave me—why, then, we're quits," he ended.
Sophy held out her hand.
"I shall be thinking of you all the time, Cecil."
"Thanks. You'll send a line now and then?"
"Indeed I will. Every day, if you like."
"No. That's too much to expect. I don't believe in setting kindness tasks. Tell the little chap good-by for me. Hope Italy will make him quite fit."
"I will. Good-by. Some day I'll— I can't say things now."
"Don't try. I don't want it."
He hesitated, still holding her hand. Then flushed again darkly.
"Would it—er—go too much against the grain for you to give the—er—condemned—a kiss?"