The memory of that kiss came back to him with a rush. He had forgotten it, somehow. He was forgiven, of course. Still, it was only right to speak of it—she had confessed her trespasses so very handsomely.
Standing still, he took hold of her hand.
"Valerie, I quite forgot. The kiss I gave you that day was the kiss of a bully. I've never——"
A small cool hand covered his lips.
"Hush, lad. You mustn't say it. I know you were angry, or you'd never have done it. But that was my fault. You know it was. And"—she hesitated, and a blush came stealing to paint the wild rose red—"it's the only kiss you've ever given me, and—since then—I've been very glad of it."
For a moment Anthony stood trembling. Then he put his arm about Valerie and held her close. There was the whisper of a tremulous sigh in his ears, the warm fragrance of quick-coming breath beat upon his nostrils, the radiance of love-lit beauty flooded his eyes. Slowly he bent his head….
A wandering breeze swept out of the distance, brushed past the leafless woods, set the curtain of silence swaying, and—was gone.
Anthony started violently and threw up his head, listening….
Imagination lent him her ears.
The faintest silvery ripple, the liquid echo of a cool clear call went floating out of audience….