"Here's a note for you; I think it's from Mr. Ruan," said Judith. "Mrs. Penticost said she thought it was." Judy did not add that Mrs. Penticost's precise method of giving the information had been to snort out: "T'young maister can't live through the night wethout writing to she, simminly…. Poor sawl!"
Blanche read the little note through twice, a smile on her face, then pulled Judith down to her and kissed her.
"Blanche, are you …?" asked Judy breathlessly.
Blanche nodded.
"Oh, Blanche, what is it like? Is it as wonderful as books say? Do you feel thrills?"
"What sort of thrills?"
"Oh, up and down your spine, I suppose! Like I feel when I hear music."
"Yes, it's just like music. It somehow sets the whole of life to music," answered Blanche solemnly.
"How wonderful!… Blanche—has he kissed you?"
"Yes, last night. Judy, a woman doesn't know what life means till the man she loves kisses her."