Rogelio lowered his voice and redoubled his entreaties, although he began to feel a strong inclination to burst out laughing. After making three or four gestures in the negative, the girl all at once, and without further preface, said yes.
“Give me a token of your love!” implored Rogelio; and without waiting for permission he bent his head and kissed her on the cheek, feeling as if he were kissing the painted cheek of a doll—smooth, rosy, and insensible. Inocencia betrayed no emotion whatever—neither pleasure nor coyness—at receiving the kiss; on the contrary, seizing the student by the lapel of his coat, she declared, with an air of conviction:
“I think we ought to say thou to each other. All my girl friends and their sweethearts do.”
“Very well, I will say thou to thee. See, I am doing so now!”
She continued, with the same decision and eagerness:
“We ought to write to each other every day, too; every day, without missing a single one. My sister Lucia’s sweetheart writes a letter that long to her every morning; and another, every afternoon, that is longer still.”
“Very well; we will write to each other, too. I will make arrangement with the servant to carry our letters.”
“And you must give me your likeness. Have you a photograph? My parents would not let me have mine taken until I have my tooth drawn, but I can give you some of my hair for a locket. Shall I cut you some now?” she added, playing with the curly ends of her braid.
“No, it will be time enough when I give you my likeness.”
The girl rose quickly and walked on tiptoe to the door of the room where the grown people were chatting. She returned with the same caution, a look of satisfaction on her face.