“I’ll never kiss you again”, she replied quickly, “you can be sure of that.” I went on begging, praising, pleading for ever so long, till at length she took my head in her hands, saying:
“If you’ll promise never to do that again, never, I’ll give you a kiss and try to forgive you.”
“I can’t promise”, I said, “it was too sweet; but kiss me and I’ll try to be good.”
She kissed me a quick peck and pushed me away.
“Didn’t you like it?” I whispered, “I did awfully. I can’t tell you how I thrilled: oh, thank you, Lucille, thank you, you are the sweetest girl in all the world, and I shall always be grateful to you, you dear!”
She looked down at me musingly, thoughtfully; I felt I was gaining ground:
“You are lovely there”, I ventured in a whisper, “please, dear, what do you call it? I saw ‘chat’ once: is that right, ‘pussy’?”
“Don’t talk of it”, she cried impatiently, “I hate to think—”
“Be kind, Lucille”, I pleaded, “you’ll never be the same to me again: you were pretty before, chic and provoking, but now you’re sacred. I don’t love you, I adore you, reverence you, darling! May I say ‘pussy’?”
“You’re a strange boy”, she said at length, “but you must never do that again; it’s nasty and I don’t like it. I—”