It flashed upon Rosemary that this was not at all like the impassioned love-making to which she had been an unwilling witness, but, none the less, it was sweet, and it was her very own. He wanted her, and merely to be wanted, anywhere, gives a certain amount of satisfaction.
"Kiss me, dear," Rosemary put up her trembling lips, answering to him with every fibre of body and soul.
"Don't cry, dear girl, please don't! I want to make you happy."
Rosemary released herself, wiped her eyes upon a coarse handkerchief, then asked the inevitable question:
"Will she care?"
"No, she'll be glad. Mother will too."
A Promise
"Grandmother won't," she laughed, hysterically, "nor Aunt Matilda."
"Never mind them. You've considered them all your life, now it's your turn."
"It doesn't seem that I deserve it," whispered Rosemary, with touching humility. "I've never been happy, except for a little while this Spring, and now——."