“No,” said Ralph. He put both his little hands to his sides, standing still very near Harriet, but not touching her.
“If you refuse, you go to bed.”
“All wight, Harriet,” replied the little chap.
“Then you won’t kiss me—you, who love me so dearly—you won’t kiss the Harriet who saved your life?”
“Oh—’course I love you,” said Ralph, “does you want me to kiss you like that? I only kiss when I—I—can’t help it. I am not a sort of kissing boy at all. I am like father—I think just a look is enough, and a sort of smile now and then, and a sort of feel—oh, you know it—down—deep, deep here. I doesn’t kiss father much; he doesn’t think it man-like for boys to kiss.”
“Kiss me the way you kissed Robina, and do it at once,” said Harriet, “or you go to bed.”
“No,” said Ralph again.
The other girls were scarcely listening, but this little scene between the two was drawing general attention. Patience, in particular, guessed that there was some struggle going on between Harriet and Ralph, and although she pretended to talk to her companions, she could not help listening.
“Kiss me,” repeated Harriet, guessing that she was drawing the attention of the room, and getting excited in her determination to win the victory. “Kiss me, or you go to bed!”
“No,” said Ralph again. Then he added, now putting his two hands behind him, “I won’t ever kiss you, Harriet, because you threat me—that isn’t me at all. I wouldn’t be a man-like boy if I did things ’cause o’ threats.”