Terry focussed his eyes safely upon the white line that marked the part in her hair, and carefully pronounced each English word.
"Ahma, I am leaving for a while. Understand?"
She bobbed the dark head: "I do," she said.
The memories wrought by the limpid "I do" were a bit unsettling. He addressed the jet locks again: "Good-by."
She looked at the capable hand he extended toward her, puzzled at the gesture, then looked at the Major. He said a single word in dialect and her small white teeth glistened in a smile of comprehension. She approached close to Terry.
"I know. You say—good-night. I know how—to good-night."
Her concentration upon the unaccustomed pronunciations was bewitching. To relieve the strain of embarrassment he felt in her closeness to him, he turned to the grinning Major.
"As you say—she does learn quickly," he offered, rather vaguely.
She came closer still. "Yes, I know—how to—good-night!" she trilled: "Good-night is kiss!"
She called it "Keez" but Terry understood. If he did not then he did an instant later when he felt the clasp of warm round arms, the molding pressure of a soft form and the swift impress of full sensitive lips.