She laughed. She was grateful when he teased her. That meant it didn't matter what she answered. "I don't want to look grown-up."
"Aunt Julia doesn't want any grown-up step-daughters around." Something had him, he thought. It was irresistible.
"Paul!" A catch of surprise and rebuke in her soft tone. "I don't know what's got into you lately. I think it's horrid—always suggesting Aunt Julia has some mean motive in everything she does! She's one of the loveliest people on earth! She's too good for you. You just don't understand her and you're jealous."
Paul was amused. "Jealous, am I!" He would not show the child his vexation with her. All at once he was disconcerted to realize that he had become very depressed. He pitied himself. He watched May's legs as she stretched them stiffly before her, thin little legs. Her high shoes were loosely laced and the tops bulged away from her ankles. Sweet. He reached and took her hand. Cold little hand! May, too embarrassed to take notice of his gesture, let him hold it. He thought she was sweet. He might like to kiss her—maybe. Not now. He could not bear to be as young as she was. While he held her hand it came over him that there was something dark and sickly in himself. He was vain that she could not understand it. Rotten. She's a kid. He tried not to recognize his pride in finding himself impure. He was fed up with everything. Hell!
As the sun disappeared the world grew suddenly bright, and long red rays striped the tree trunks and the grass, endless rays reaching softly out of the gorgeous welter in the western sky. The water twinkled fixedly. The green grass was like mist over the fields.
Paul became abruptly agitated. "Better go home, hadn't we?"
May glanced at him furtively. His eyes made her unhappy. "I suppose we had."
They got up awkwardly. When they were standing he let her hand drop as if it had been nothing. She walked before him, a little girl in a short dress with a soft braid of hair hanging under a red cap.
"You don't look fifteen, May."
"Don't I?"