“I can tell you don’t. You don’t mean it. D’you think I can’t tell!”
Keith raised a finger and lightly touched her hair. He rubbed her cheek with his own, so that she could feel the soft bristles of his shaven beard. And he held her more closely within the circle of his arm.
“Because I’m clumsy?” he breathed. “You know too much, Jenny.”
“No: I can tell.... It’s all the difference in the world.”
“Well, then; how many others have kissed you?... Eh?”
“Keith!” Jenny struggled a little. “Let me go now.”
“How many?” Keith kissed her cheek. “Tell the whole dreadful truth.”
“If I asked you how many girls ... what would you say then?” Jenny’s sombre eyes were steadily watching him, prying into the secrets of his own. He gave a flashing smile, that lighted up his brown face.
“We’re both jealous,” he told her. “Isn’t that what’s the matter?”
“You don’t trust me. You don’t want me. You’re only teasing.” With a vehement effort she recovered some of her self-control. Pride was again active, the dominant emotion. “So am I only teasing,” she concluded. “You’re too jolly pleased with yourself.”