George and Janet were all for acting as if nothing unusual had happened, and Rosie scorned them afresh for the useless hypocrisy.
The journey home was stupid and unpleasant. The cars were crowded and people were ill-natured and rude and everything in general was horrid. The wind kept blowing Rosie's streamers into her eyes until she was ready to tear them off.... Would they never get home?
Janet McFadden, her dull black eyes fixed in a dream, heeded nothing. But at the corner where their ways parted Rosie saw to it that she heard something. When Janet offered farewells, Rosie called out with unmistakable emphasis:
"Good-night, Tom! I've had a very pleasant time with you!"
Like Janet, George Riley seemed to think that everything was as before. He himself was quiet, with the drowsy languor that follows an evening's excitement, and he seemed to be attributing Rosie's silence to the same cause.
When they got home, Rosie tried to show him his mistake. The gas in the little hallway was burning low, and George turned it high to light Rosie upstairs.
Rosie started off without a word.
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-night, Rosie?"
At that Rosie turned slowly about and gazed down upon him with all the hauteur of an offended queen. "There's just one thing I want to tell you, Jarge Riley: because you kiss Janet McFadden, you needn't think you can kiss any girl!"
"Why, Rosie!" George began. But Rosie was already gone.