"Air he—air he a-knowin'—how to kiss?"
The very word slipping from her lips brought back with a sudden joy that night a week ago, and the never-to-be-forgotten kiss of the student. She could feel again the warm, strong lips pressed to hers—the long muscular arms enfolding her.
Myra scanned her face closely.
"To kiss—yep; but he ain't never kissed the brat."
There was wonderful longing and passion in her tones.
This was a new thought for Tess. The "Pappy" should kiss his brat—but were they one and the same kisses? She remembered the sweetness of that first caress "Daddy" had given her on the stone window ledge of his cell. It was tinged with bittersweet—bitter because Daddy was going away, sweet because she had desired it so fondly. But it had not been like the student's kiss. She was going to ask Myra Longman to solve the first great problem of her life.
"Air the kisses what ye had from Ben Letts—burnin' ones? Did ye lose the thought of the night and the night things on the ragged rocks?... Did ye want 'em again and again—more and more kisses till they scorched yer face like the bread oven in the spring?"
Tess had risen to her feet, had whitened to the small ears covered with the tawny hair. Myra had risen also. Both girls were eying each other with intentness. Tess started to speak again, coming forward a step toward the other squatter.
"Did ye forget the storm, the wavin' trees and all 'cept—Ben Letts?"
"Ye air been to the ragged rocks," moaned Myra, sinking down upon the floor in a heap.