“Well?” She interrupted sharply and with so much of challenge in her manner that John had to curb his rising indignation as he replied.
“If I am not careful we will quarrel again, and we have done more than enough of that lately.”
“I am sure I can’t help it, John, if you choose to be cross and unreasonable.”
“Has it all been my fault?”
“No, of course not,” cried Lola, with one of the sudden changes of mood that had so often puzzled him of late. “I have been perfectly horrid, I know, and I won’t be any more. Just forgive me, John—and—and”—she looked up at him sweetly—“and kiss me, if you want to.”
John stooped and kissed her, and asked earnestly, “And we shan’t postpone the wedding again, shall we?”
“Only a little while, dear.”
He turned angrily away, but she caught his arm.
“Now, John! Can’t you trust me? Don’t you love me enough to give me my way in a little thing like this?”
As he stood rather coldly beside her, she suddenly threw both her arms about his neck and clung to him. Much as he loved her there was something in the utter abandon of her manner that shocked him, and for a moment he tried to draw away, but her delicate-looking arms were strong, and she clung all the tighter, laughing at his half-hearted effort to escape.