The blood came back to Sarah's heart. She hurried to tell him the rest.
"I've been wanting to tell you, Peter; you mustn't think me worse than I am. He used to come down to my counter and talk to me; and after a few days of that he asked me to go out with him. I was a little proud at first—to be noticed by the manager above the other girls. Girls like to be made much of, Peter; if it's only by a lost dog that licks their hand, they like it. I went to that place with him, after he'd asked me a dozen times, and the third time there with him I drank a glass of champagne. I wanted to know for myself what it tasted like. But I never took it with him again—nor went out with him again, because coming home in the taxi that night he tried to get fresh. A lot of men, Peter, think that if a girl isn't cold and stiff in her ways she must be bad. And I kicked the door of the taxi open and left him and came home alone."
"I'm glad you told me that. And Sarah?"
"Yes, Peter?"
"Good night, Sarah."
"You're not mad with me any more, Peter?"
"I could never stay mad with you."
"Then you must tell me you're not, Peter. A girl wants to be told these things."
Her eyes were smiling up like stars through the dark of the doorway at him. He drew back her head to him and kissed her. She lay very still against him. He patted her head.
"You'll marry me, won't you, Sarah, some day?"