“Oh, you are telling them about—me? May I see what you have written?”
She could! And did! With one arm around his neck, heads so close that his face was hidden in an aura of flying hair, she began. As her eyes passed along the lines, her smooth cheek came harder and harder against his. Her clasp on his neck tightened until, just before she sat up, it had evolved into a bear hug.
“Oh, what a liar they will think you!”
“To guard against that, I want you to let me have the photo in the silver frame on your writing-table. Seeing’s believing.”
Of course she declared it “wasn’t a bit like her” and the rest of it. Nevertheless, she brought it and, having resumed her perch on his knee, picked out the bad points and dwelt thereon while her eyes appealed for the contradiction which he voluminously furnished. While he severally and in toto denied her scathing indictments and substituted therefor panegyrics, she glowed radiantly and finally gave consent.
“Only you are so blind. They’ll hate me when they see it.”
“Trust dad for that!” he laughed. “He still has a soft spot for a pretty damsel. When he sees this—well, he’ll go straight out and buy a fatted calf.”
“But your mother and sister? They’ll never forgive me for taking you from that other girl.”
“Wrong again! They weren’t a bit anxious about it. It was all my father—with his nonsense about rounding out fortunes. They’ll love you as much as I—no, that’s impossible! But they’ll love you, all right.”
A little thoughtful gleam now explained itself. “That other girl? You never told me about her. Did you ever—kiss her?”