He stopped short. It was not what he meant to say. He tried to avoid the intimately personal when he was with her. He knew the danger of those sweet familiarities—to himself. But he had blurted out the question before he was aware. He was standing so close to her that a little whirling breeze blew a strand of her yellow hair across his face. That tenuous contact made him quiver, gave him a queer intoxicating thrill.
"Does it show so plainly as that?" she smiled. "It's a secret. A really wonderful secret. I'm just bursting to talk about it, but I mustn't. Talking might break the spell. Do you—along with your other naïve beliefs—believe in spells, Mr. Thompson?"
"Yes," he answered simply. "In yours."
Her eyes danced. She laughed softly, deep in her throat, like a meadow lark in spring.
"That's the first time I ever knew you to indulge in irony," she said.
"It isn't irony," he answered moodily. "It's the honest truth."
"Poor man," she said gaily. "I'd be flattered to death to think a simple backwoods maiden could make such a profound impression on a young man from the city—but it isn't so."
She turned her head sidewise, like a saucy bird, regarding him with mock gravity, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Mr. Thompson had a long arm and he stood close to her, tantalizingly close. She was smiling. Her lips parted redly over white, even teeth, and as Thompson bent that moody somber gaze on her, her breath seemed to come suddenly a little faster, making her round breast flutter—and a faint tinge of pink stole up to color the soft whiteness of her neck, up into the smooth round of her cheeks.
Thompson's arm closed about her, his lips grazed her cheek as she twisted her head to evade him. That minor show of resistance stirred all the primitive instincts that active or dormant lurk in every strong man. He twisted her head roughly, and as naturally as water flows down hill their lips met. He felt the girl's body nestle with a little tremor closer to his, felt with an odd exaltation the quick hammer of her heart against his breast. He held her tight, and her face slowly drew away from him, and turned shyly against his shoulder.
"It is so, and you know it's so," he whispered hoarsely. "Sophie, I wish—"