"By the way you didn't let me kiss you," he admitted. "A fellow likes that in a girl. Did you know it?" He tossed away the twig and looked back at the girl as he asked the question.
"I thought they liked—the other thing."
"They do and they don't," said Ted, his paradox again betraying a scarcely to be expected wisdom. "But that is neither here nor there. What I started out to say was that I'm glad you don't make a practice of this pick-up business. It—it's no good," he summed up.
"I know." Madeline nodded understanding of the import of his warning. She was far too handsome and too prematurely developed physically to be devoid of experience of the ways of the opposite sex. Like Ophelia she knew there were tricks in the world and she liked frank Ted Holiday the better for reminding her of them. "I won't do it," she promised. "That is, unless you don't ever come back yourself. I don't know what I'll do then—something awful, maybe."
"I'll come fast enough. I'll come to-morrow." he added obeying a sudden impulse, Ted fashion.
"Will you?" The girl's face flushed with delight. "When?"
"To-morrow afternoon. I can't dodge the ivy stuff in the morning. Will four o'clock do all right?"
"Yes. Come here to this same place."
"I say, Madeline, can't I come to the house? I hate doing it like this."
"No, you can't. If you want to see me you'll have to do it this way. It's lots nicer here than in the house, anyway."