“Good-night, Betty.”
Her hand slipped into his outstretched palm. “Good-night, Bob White.”
“I’ve had a lovely time.”
“So have I.”
He had not released her hand, and now she leaned toward him until the great braid of her hair fell across her breast.
“Bob White, I’m rather sorry I was so—so violent yesterday, when you were carrying me and—and did what you did.”
She was so close to him that he felt her hair brush his forehead. The blood was pounding in his ears, and his throat was parched. He lifted his left hand slowly to her neck to draw her lips to his. Then, all at once, he steadied himself.
“Oh, you little witch!” he said. “I swear I don’t know whether you’re an innocent or a demon. No, no, Betty! The next time I kiss you, you must ask me outright, not merely look at me! Do you ask me?”
She snatched her hand away. “Certainly not. Never!”
“Good-night, then.”