"Well! Do you think I could be blamed—exactly? It—it seemed such an awfully natural thing to do. You—ah—it seemed I—I couldn't do anything else!..."
"I see," said the girl slowly.
"Ah—you—you're a very kissable person, you must know—"
"And do you always go about kissing people you think are kissable?"
The young man shrank as from a blow. Not looking once in her direction, he did not note that she had spoken with a quivering lip. With a great effort at lightness, he stammered:—
"Well, hardly! It must be that I don't often meet people who—who are as k-k-kissable as you—"
"I suppose I ought to feel flattered."
There was a miserable silence.
"I was mistaken in you," continued the Nice Girl's stricken voice. "I—I trusted you. I supposed you were too honorable—I didn't think—"
That word seemed to touch him to the quick. He spoke with desperate stiffness.