These, and other such time-worn phrases, had passed between them, and in the end Rose had simulated anger, strangely curious all the time to see what Artie, provoked, would do.
What he had done, as both had subconsciously intended from the first, had been to catch hold of her and kiss her roughly and suddenly.
It had been Rose’s first kiss, and had been followed by others, given and exchanged in the semi-obscurity of the shop at closing-time and later on, as they grew bolder, in the public parks to which they had repaired secretly on the rare afternoons when Artie was free.
Perhaps a fortnight had elapsed before the discovery by Uncle Alfred of the idyll so rapidly progressing beneath his roof.
Another crisis of the emotions had followed, for Uncle Alfred had denounced Rose to her face, in his strangely passionless, old-fashioned invective, as a “lewd hussy.” But his wrath had not blinded him to the relative value to himself and his business of an intelligent assistant and an idle niece.
It was Rose for whom he had found a post that would take her away from home, that would, in fact, take her out of England, since she was to look after two children travelling with their parents to Ceylon, remain there for a year, and return to England with them.
“A most wonderful opportunity for any young woman,” Uncle Alfred had pointed out.
It had certainly provided wonderful opportunities for Rose.
In spite of a tearful parting and promise of weekly letters, she had forgotten Artie Millar within twenty-four hours of leaving him. The new excitements had been so many and so varied!
Her employers had been kind to her—Mr. Jones-Pryce had attempted to kiss her, but had left off when she protested—and the children had played on deck and given her no trouble.