“What have I to worry me? But that’s the kind of question a husband or accepted lover would ask. You’ve whirled too far ahead on your merry-go-round. Get back to the starting-point.”
“I never seem to get beyond it. Will you give me a kiss?”
“I’ve often kissed you.”
“I don’t mean a peck. And you’re out of your rôle. It’s what any man would ask a girl, you know, who had let herself be persuaded to stay on with him downstairs at two in the morning. She’d think him a chump if he didn’t.”
“But that’s going rather fast—for some girls. Others kiss any man any old time. I’m the great exception or you wouldn’t think I’m the one and only. And I don’t think I care for that part of the program.”
“It’s bound to come sooner or later.”
“Not at all. You talked a lot about wooing but there was no understanding you were to win—not by a long sight——”
“Please stay in your rôle. I am begging for a kiss.”
Gita looked at him reflectively. There wasn’t so much to kiss between that mustache and beard. She didn’t altogether like his mouth but she was used to it. And if it was the thing to do—she moved her head forward; and then she encountered a disturbing gleam in his half-closed eyes, and drew back; restraining an impulse to hiss and flee. She had seen that gleam in men’s eyes before. Carnalites. Eustace!
At the same moment she became conscious of a resource that was offering its timely aid. “Not yet,” she murmured with soft coquetry. “It’s too soon. Talk to me for a little while first. Talk to me about yourself,” she added with inspiration. “Tell me when you first began to find me attractive. After—later——”