“It looks like it. But why should we trouble about it?”
“I think it is horrid. But I must be going. Good-night—Martin.”
He felt a gentle effort to loosen his clasp.
“Good-night, Elsie.”
Their faces were very close. Assuredly, the boy must have been a trifle light-headed that day, for he bent and kissed her.
She tore herself from the encircling arm. Her cheeks were burning. At a little distance—a few feet—she halted.
“How dare you?” she cried.
He came to her with hands extended.
“Forgive me, Elsie; I couldn’t help it.”