"It is—to me. Andy, this is no time for historical novel gallantry or radio soap opera self-renunciation. This is the last chance we'll ever have to be completely frank with each other." Her dark eyes were intent. "Andy, do you love me?"
"I ... well—" He groped in confusion, with the feeling that he had suddenly found himself on a tight-rope, hundreds of feet in the air. Then he nodded miserably. "Yes."
"Then just why did you take it for granted that I was Dave's girl?" Ellen demanded bitterly.
"I thought Dave was the one you were interested in. He was my best friend, and I didn't want to—"
"You thought! Didn't it ever occur to you to find out?"
He made a helpless gesture. "I wanted to, Ellen—but I don't see what good it could have done. I was going away, you know."
"Don't you think I could have changed your mind about that? Don't you think I can change your mind—even now?" Abruptly she leaned toward him, her small face lighted as though by some fierce inner fire, at once pleading and demanding. "Andy—kiss me!"
Despite himself, that fire touched him, kindled to a blaze. His lips met hers with a quickening pressure, his hands slipped from her shoulders to draw her tightly against him. For long seconds nothing else had reality or importance. The glade dissolved around him, and he seemed to float in a dark sea that rose and fell with a wild rhythm.
Then awareness of his act exploded in him. He released the girl abruptly and drew away.