She could not instance his ties, his clumsy length of limb, his habit of furious blushing.
'You make it very hard for me,' she said. 'I—I wish you would go home; I want to go to bed.'
'Forgive me,' he said humbly. 'Forgive me; you have been very good and patient with me. I will go at once.'
Hermie looked for him to move. He took a step away from her—a step back—a step away. The sad moon came out and showed her his blurred miserable eyes, his working mouth.
'Oh, I am sorry—sorry!' she cried.
'May I kiss you—just once?' he whispered.
She stood still, her head drooped down, till he lifted it, very gently, very tenderly, and bent his head and put his quivering lips on hers.
Her hand went gently round his neck a minute.
'Poor Morty, dear Morty!' she said. Her breath came warm on his cheek one second, and a feather kiss, a sweet little sorry kiss that made his heart like bursting, was laid there.
The next second she had slipped away into the darkness, and he was stumbling to find his horse and carry his misery as far as he might.