“Ah, no,” she pleaded. “Not that—I love you so—” her voice fell brokenly. “I mean—I—”
“Why, surely, you may kiss me, Delia?” he answered.
Further still into the shadows she withdrew.
“Love is not kisses,” she said faintly.
“Some think so, Delia,” he smiled.
“I—I would not,” she faltered.
He picked up his hat and whip.
“Sweetheart—I must go.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “But I have the thought of you, which is company enough.”
He looked at her a moment through the twilight.