“You probably don’t know how beautiful you are?”
“Don’t be foolish, and—and impertinent.”
She was standing opposite to him. With a sudden motion, he sprang forward, fell on one knee, seized her ungloved hand, covered it with kisses, sprang up, and hastened away, crying as he went:
“All right. I’ll do it.”
Dora stood where he left her. First she looked at her hand, then at Charlie’s retreating back, then again at her hand. Her cheek was flushed and she trembled a little.
“John never did that,” she said, “at least, not without asking. And even then, not quite like that.”
She walked on slowly, then stopped and exclaimed:
“I wonder if he ever did that to Mary Travers.”
And her last reflection was:
“Poor boy. He must be—oh, dear me!”