"Don't look like that, little girl," said Roger, bending toward me. "It hurts me terribly to—to think you are not happy."
He put a hand over mine, and at that moment Alice Warrington turned from a rosebush she and Peter were pretending to examine, and saw me. She raised her eyebrows, and that gave me the idea. I put my free hand over Roger's and tried to put my soul into my eyes.
"Don't move," I said. "Hold the position for a moment, Roger, and look desperately unhappy."
"I am," he said. "Seeing you again brings it all back. Are they looking? Shall I kiss your hand?"
I looked over. Alice and Peter were still staring.
"Bend over," I said quickly, "and put your cheek against it. It's more significant and rather hopeless. I'll explain later."
He did extremely well. He bent over passionately until his head was almost in my lap, and I could see how carefully his hair was brushed over a thin place at the crown. Thank goodness, Bill keeps his hair anyhow!
"How's this?" he said in a muffled voice.
"That's plenty." I'd made up my mind, and I meant to go through with it. But I felt like a fool. There's something about broad daylight that makes even real sentiment look idiotic.
He sat up and looked into my eyes.