“Yes.”
Miss Mayfield uttered a faint sigh. He looked into her anxious cheeks and eyes, his arm stole round her; their lips met for the first time in one long lingering kiss. Then, I fear, for the second time.
“Jeff,” said Miss Mayfield, suddenly becoming practical and sweetly possessory, “you must have your hands bound up in cotton.”
“Yes,” said Jeff cheerfully.
“And you must go instantly to bed.”
Jeff stared.
“Because my sister will think it very late for me to be sitting up with a gentleman.”
The idea that Miss Mayfield was responsible to anybody was something new to Jeff. But he said hastily, “I must stay and wait for Bill. He risked his life for me.”
“Oh, yes! You must tell me all about it. I may wait for THAT!”
Jeff possessed himself of the chair; in some way he also possessed himself of Miss Mayfield without entirely dispossessing her. Then he told his story. He hesitated over the episode of the blacksmith. “I'm afraid I killed him, Jessie.”