She sighed; and looking up from the Rubaiyat, he caught her eyes fixed upon him, wide and speculative.
"What is the little girl thinking of?" he asked tenderly.
She answered at once, with a return of her gay daring, "You—of course!"
But under his intensifying gaze her own dropped, and he went on reading; in a voice that shook, however.
"Now for it!" said Joan suddenly to herself. She dropped her hand negligently on the leaves, close to his.
She resisted the temptation to jerk it back as soon as she was aware of its contact with another. Very slight the contact was, no more than the touch of a leaf. She pretended not to notice it; but the blood sang in her ears, her cheeks burned—she wished suddenly that he would take her hand, if he was going to; hold it tight....
Heavens! What was happening to her? She wanted the touch of his hand; she liked it! Did she care for him, then? Was this being in love—already?
"Joan," he whispered. "Look at me!"
The spell was broken. She jumped to her feet. "Come, we must be getting back," she said hurriedly. "It is late."
"Ah, but how cold you are!"