"You might as well walk to the store." It seemed to her that they both had ever so much to say to each other, and had said nothing.
"No. I can't go any further. Good-by—that is, till tonight."
He was red and stammering. As they shook hands emotion made them speechless. He stumbled awkwardly as he turned to leave, became still more hotly self-conscious when he saw the grin on the faces of the group of loungers at a packing case near the curb. Susan did not see the loafers, did not see anything distinctly. Her feet sought the uneven brick sidewalk uncertainly, and the blood was pouring into her cheeks, was steaming in her brain, making a red mist before her eyes. She was glad he had left her. The joy of being with him was so keen that it was pain. Now she could breathe freely and could dream—dream—dream. She made blunder after blunder in working over the accounts with her uncle, and he began to tease her.
"You sure are in love, Brownie," declared he.
Her painful but happy blush delighted him.
"Tell me all about it?"
She shook her head, bending it low to hide her color.
"No?. . . Sometime?"
She nodded. She was glancing shyly and merrily at him now.
"Well, some hold that first love's best. Maybe so. But it seems to me any time's good enough. Still—the first time's mighty fine eh?" He sighed. "My, but it's good to be young!" And he patted her thick wavy hair.
It did not leak out until supper that Sam was coming. Warham said to Susan, "While Ruth's looking out for Artie, you and I'll have a game or so of chess, Brownie." Susan colored violently. "What?" laughed Warham. "Are you going to have a beau too?"