If thou kiss not me?”
Almost a gasp in the murmuring ocean air—and then their lips met, brushing shyly, in a frightened thistledown of contact.
“Joy—I worship you.” His trembling whisper in her ear. “I love you—I love you so! Joy——”
This time they clung together, half frightened at the passion that surged to their lips.
And then a long interval without words—until they found themselves sitting on the sand, she with her head on his shoulder, he stroking her hair.
“You have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen. Everything about you is the most wonderful I’ve ever seen. Your eyes, your voice, your lips—” Another interval. “Joy—I never knew what it was to feel like this. You—you’re the only girl I’ve ever kissed.”
“I didn’t know a man existed, who could say that,” said Joy with a happy laugh which died away on his next words.
“And I didn’t know there were girls like you—until I met you. For I am the first with you—am I not?”
“I’ve been kissed before—once.”
An intake of breath. Then, before she could continue: “Don’t tell me about it, Joy, dear—” a pause to accustom oneself to the unfamiliar “dear”—“don’t tell me about it—I’d rather not hear any more. I’ll make you forget him—just once isn’t much——”