This brought them to the steps of her house. They discovered that the darkened vestibule was already occupied by a couple engaged in the business of saying good-night. Daisy quickly caught hold of Wilfred’s sleeve, and pulled him by. A light broke upon him. She intended that he should stay! He trembled with internal laughter. His heart began to beat faster. They walked on a little way in silence. Wilfred, grinning, studied Daisy’s face in the light of a street lamp. It still bore an expression of ferocious outraged virtue. What somersaults women could perform without losing their faces!
When they got back, the vestibule was empty. He followed Daisy into the house without anything further being said; and into her own little place on the first floor above. She closed the door, and turning around, began in pathetic accents:
“Now that you’ve forced your way in here, I hope. . . .”
Wilfred laughed; and seized her rudely in his arms. An instinct told him that she adored being treated rudely. He carefully removed her glasses, and put them on a table. There was light enough for him to see her charming, vague, shy eyes. He discovered that he clasped within the too artful clothes, the body of a very nymph with slim, boyish legs, round arms, and small firm breasts.
“Ah, you pretty thing! you pretty thing!” he murmured, heartily enough.
“Oh, Wilfred, spare me!” she pleaded. “Not that . . . Wilfred!”
“What did you expect?” he asked, between his kisses. “That we’d sit here and hold hands?”
“But Wilfred, I’ve never . . . I’ve never. . . .”
“Then it’s high time you did!” he said, laughing and kissing her.
“Oh, you’re so masterful!” she breathed.