"Don't, Claude," she said at last, disturbed. "I must keep my wits about me today, or I shall be as putty in my mother's hands."
He was bitterly disappointed. Her use of his name was some solace, however; for, as her soft, flexible tones prolonged it, the sound was music to his ears.
"Is that why you won't let me kiss you?" he pursued hopefully.
"No. I'm not used to it yet," she said, quite simply.
"Not used to it! You mean you haven't been kissed by men before?"
"Nothing so silly. I haven't been kissed by you before."
"Ah, I might have known the reason wasn't inexperience," he said, with incipient jealousy. "Then why balk at me?" he went on, seizing her hands again.
"As I said," she replied, calmly matter-of-fact. "I haven't had time to think of it. At least, not much nor for long," she added impishly. "I must first see whether I can get used to the idea."
"Indeed! But getting used to the idea won't get you used to the thing itself. Only practice makes perfect."
"A rehearsal in dumb show is not to be despised," was her response.