She shook her head.
"Then why do you ask me to kiss you?"
"Because of what you said about father."
He laughed and kissed her. And then she, too, laughed. He said, "Not for my own sake—not a little bit?"
"Oh, yes," she cried, "when you kiss me that way. I like to be kissed. I am very affectionate."
He laughed again. "You are a queer one. If it's a game, it's a good one. Is it a game?"
"I don't know," said she gayly. "Good night. This is dreadfully late for me."
"Good night," he said, and they shook hands. "Do you like me better—or less?"
"Better," was her prompt, apparently honest reply.
"Curiously enough, I'm beginning to like you," said he. "Now don't ask me what I mean by that. If you don't know already, you'll not find out from me."