A lump came into his throat and he swallowed hard. Blindly, he went over to her chair. The girl's flower-like face was lifted questioningly to his. He bent over and kissed her, full upon the lips.
Araminta shrank from him a little, and the colour surged into her face, but her eyes, still trustful, still tender, never wavered from his.
"I suppose I'm a brute," Ralph said, huskily, "but God knows I haven't meant to be."
Araminta smiled—a sweet, uncomprehending smile. Ralph possessed himself of her hand. It was warm and steady—his own was cold and tremulous.
"Child," he said, "did any one ever kiss you before?"
"No," replied Araminta; "only Aunt Hitty. It was when I was a baby and she thought I was lost. She kissed me—here." Araminta pointed to her soft cheek. "Did you kiss me because I was well?"
Ralph shook his head despairingly. "The man in the book kissed the lady," went on Araminta, happily, "because he was so glad they were to talk together again, but we—why, I shall never see you any more," she concluded, sadly.
His fingers tightened upon hers. "Yes," he said, in a strange voice, "we shall see each other again."
"They both seem very well," sighed Araminta, referring to Aunt Hitty and Mr. Thorpe, "and even if I fell off of a ladder again, it might not hurt me at all. I have fallen from lots of places and only got black and blue. I never broke before."
"Listen, child," said Ralph. "Would you rather live with Aunt Hitty, or with me?"