“I should like to kiss it,” he said, and then stopped with a sudden burning consciousness that the words should not have been uttered. “Forgive me, Mamie,” he said, quickly. “I didn’t mean that—or, rather, I did mean it, but I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Why shouldn’t you have said it?” she inquired, seriously, looking up at him with a little pucker of perplexity in her forehead. “Why shouldn’t you kiss me, if you like?”
He trembled a little before this trusting innocence, and searched around in his mind somewhat miserably for a reply.
“I don’t quite know,” he answered, at last. “I’ll think it over. But you’ll freeze to death here, with no wrap on,” and without looking at her, he led the way into the sitting room beyond.
Mamie followed him, and, placing the lamp upon a table, sat down thoughtfully before the fire.
“So you’re back, Allan?” said Jack, laying aside the local evening paper, which he had been reading aloud to Mary.
“And hungry, too,” added Mary, hastily rolling her knitting into a ball. “I’ll have ye a snack in a minute, Allan.”
“No you won’t,” retorted Allan, placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her in her chair as she started to rise. “I had dinner in the diner with Mr. Schofield, and really ate more than I should. I’m not the least hungry.”
And feeling Mary subside under his hands, he released her and sat down.
“What’s the news?” he added, turning to Jack.