She was drawing him with a chain, a hair chain, which she had woven out of her eyelashes in the twinkling of an eye (either eye).
He felt himself helpless—and choked.
“Of course I don’t mind. You go with him. It’s quite one to me.”
She gave a tiny little start.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that at all,” she cried. “I meant—I meant—you see it’s all been a little tiring—and to-morrow’s Sunday anyway and I—I Wanted to—to ask you if we couldn’t go out at eleven instead of ten?”
She looked so sweetly questioning, and his relief was so great, and his joy—
(Probably don’t care a rap for Holloway!)
—so intense, that he could hardly refrain from seizing her in his arms.
But he only seized her little hand instead and pressed it fervently to his lips. When he raised his eyes she was smiling, and her smile filled him with happiness.
“You’re such a boy!” she said softly, and turned and left him there in the window recess alone again,—but this time he didn’t care.