“You can light it from mine.”
Phyl hesitated and was lost.
It was the nearest thing to a kiss, and as she drew back with the lighted cigarette between her lips, she felt a not unpleasant sense of wickedness, such as the virtuous boy feels when led to adventure by the bad boy. Sitting on a log, smoking cigarettes, talking familiarly with a stranger, taking a light from him in such a fashion with her face so close to his that his eyes— They smoked in silence for a moment.
Then Silas spoke:
“Do you ever feel lonesome?” said he.
“Awfully—sometimes.”
“So do I.”
Silence for a moment. Then:
“I go off to Charleston when I feel like that—once in a fortnight or so—Where do you live in Charleston?”
“I live with Miss Pinckney—I thought you knew.”