The girl began to smile in a sweet, triumphant way. It was nice, this conscious power over a big, stunning six-footer who grasped her hand as a drowning man a straw. The sense of her strength was thrilling.
She looked at him with demure reproach.
"Dick!"
He grinned sheepishly and clung to her hand.
"Yes—Jennie—"
"Do you know what you are doing?"
"No—but—I know—what—I'm—trying—to—do—and—I'm—going—to—do—it—"
Again his big hand crushed hers.
"You're trying to break every bone in my hand as near as I can make out—I'd like it back when you're through with it—"
He found his tongue at last: