“Kiss me,” he insisted, drawing her face upward. His lips fell upon hers, and Jinnie’s eyes closed under the magic of her first kiss.
The master-passion of the man brought to sudden life corresponding emotions in the girl—emotions that hurt and frightened her. She put her hand to his face, and touched it. He drew back, looking into her eyes.
“Don’t,” she breathed. “Don’t kiss me any more like—like that.”
“But you love me, my girlie, sweet?” he murmured, his lips roving over her face in dear freedom. “You do!... You do!”
Jinnie’s arms went about him, but her tongue refused to speak.
“Kiss me again!” Theodore insisted.
Oh, how she wanted to kiss him once more! How she gloried in the strong arms, and the handsome face strung tense with his love for her! Then their lips met in the wonders 218 of a second kiss. Jinnie had thought the first one could never be equaled, but as she lay limply in his arms, his lips upon hers, she lost count of everything.
It might have been the weird effect of the shadows, or the deep, sudden silence about them that drew the girl slowly from his arms.
“I want my fiddle,” she whispered. “Let me go!”
Faint were the inflections of the words; insistent the drawing back of the dear warm body.