"I am glad to see you. You didn't expect me to make an exhibition of myself before all those people, did you?"
His face brightened. "Well, THAT sounds better." His mouth went up at the corner in its habitual curl. "I'd give all I possess if it was dark now, so that I could grab you and squeeze the—"
"Sh! They will hear you," she whispered, drawing away from him in confusion.
They held back until the throng had moved on a short distance. Then she turned upon him with a dangerous light in her eyes.
"And what's more," she said in a low voice, "I don't like to hear you say such things. They sound so cheap and low—and vulgar, Barry. I—" "Oh, you're always jumping on me for saying the things I really feel," he broke in. "You're my girl, aren't you? Why shouldn't I tell you how I feel? What's vulgar about my telling you I want to hold you in my arms and kiss you? Why, I don't think of anything else, day or night. And what do I get? You put me off,—yes, you do!—bringing up some silly notion about—about—what is it?—propriety! Good Lord, Viola, that's going back to the days of the Puritans,—whoever they were. They just sat around and held hands,—and that's about all I've been allowed to do with you. It's not right,—it's not natural, Viola. People who are really in love with each other just simply can't help kissing and—"
"I guess you were right when you said you were not expecting me down to meet the boat, Barry," she interrupted, looking straight before her.
"Well, didn't I tell you how happy it made me?"
"If you had thought there was any chance of me coming down to meet you, you wouldn't have taken so much to drink," she went on, a little catch in her voice.
Whereupon he protested vigorously that he had not tasted a drop,—except one small dram the captain had given him early that morning when he complained of a chill.
"Why, you're drunk right now," she said miserably. "Oh, Barry, won't you ever—"