“Are you angry with me for kissing you, Teresa?”
The girl shook her head. Her low voice sounded young and sweet.
“Oh, no... I’m glad!”
“Why are you glad?”
“Because you,—you care!” said Teresa, trembling.
For a breath Dane hesitated, and in that pause something ominous gripped at his heart, and like a man who has made a false step on the edge of a precipice he saw a glimpse of an abyss; but the next moment youth and blood rose to the appeal, and he kissed the soft lips once and again, murmuring appropriate protestations.
“Of course I care—who wouldn’t? I’ve cared a long time... And you care too? You do care for me, Teresa?”
“Oh, yes!”
The answer came with a fervour which could not fail to be infectious.
“Enough—some day—to be my wife? I wish I had more to offer you, little girl!”