She rested limply in his arms now, breathing in little broken sighs, not trying to speak.
"You have known it a long time, haven't you? And I thought I was hiding it so cleverly." He drew her closer in his arms. "You are too young for me, Carol," he said regretfully. "I am very old."
"I—I like 'em old," she whispered shyly.
With one hand he drew her head to his shoulder, where he could feel the warm fragrant breath against the "lovely chin."
"You like 'them' old," he repeated, smiling. "You are very generous. One old one is all I want you to like." But when he leaned toward her lips, Carol drew away swiftly. "Don't be afraid of me, Carol. You didn't mind once when I kissed you." He laid his hand softly on her round cheek. "I am too old, dearest, but I've been loving you for years I guess. I've been waiting for you since you were a little freshman, only I didn't know it for a while. Say something, Carol—I don't want you to feel timid with me. You love me, don't you? Tell me, if you do."
"I—I." She looked up at him desperately. "I—well, I made you say it, didn't I?"
"Did you want me to say it, dearest? Have you been waiting, too? How long have you—"
"Oh, a long time; since that night among the rose bushes at the parsonage."
"Since then?"
"Yes; that was why it didn't break my pledge when you kissed me. Because I—was waiting then."