‘I shall bring him back,’ says he, smiling. He pats her shoulder—dear little girl!—and turns to Susan. ‘Don’t be unhappy,’ he whispers hurriedly. ‘You spoke of love for him. I shall love him! I shall never let him out of my sight, Susan. I swear that to you. You believe me? You will take comfort?’
‘I believe you,’ says Susan, lifting her miserable eyes to his, ‘and I trust you.’
‘Good-bye, then.’
‘Good-bye. I heard what you said to Betty. You will bring him back—that is a promise.’
‘With the help of God I’ll bring him back to you,’ says Crosby solemnly. ‘And now, good-bye again.’
‘Good-bye,’ says Susan. And then, to his everlasting surprise, she leans forward, lays her hands upon his shoulders, and presses her lips to his cheek, not lightly or carelessly, but with heartfelt feeling. She shows no confusion. Not so much as a blush appears upon her face. It seems the most natural thing in the world—to her!
That it is gratitude only that has impelled her to this deed is quite plain to Crosby. He pushes her back from him very gently, and, stepping into the carriage, is soon out of sight.
But the memory of that kiss goes with him. It seems to linger on his cheek, and he can still see her as she raised her head, with her lovely tear-dimmed eyes on his. It was all done in the most innocent, the most friendly way. She had no thought beyond the fact that he was being very good to the little idolized brother. It was thus she showed her gratitude.
But even through gratitude to kiss him! Suddenly a fresh, a most unpleasant thought springs to life. No doubt she regards him as an old fogey—a man of such and such an age—a kind of bachelor uncle! Oh, confound it! He is not so very much older than she is, if one comes to think of it. He feels a rush of anger towards Susan, followed by a strange depression, that he either will not or does not understand. The anger, however, he understands well enough. There is no earthly reason why she should think him old enough to kiss like that. It was abominable of her.
He is conscious of a longing to go back and have it out with her—to ask her at what age she considers a man may be kissed. But at this point he checks himself, and gives way to a touch of mirth that is a trifle grim. She might mistake his meaning, and say twenty—that would be about her own age.