“I w-want a—a hanky,” said a small voice from his shoulder.
From his breast pocket he whipped a square foot of white silk. A little hand snatched at it. Its work completed, she smiled up at him, then endeavoured to withdraw from his arms. Hastings held on.
“Please,” said the small voice, “will you let me go?”
“No!” roared Hastings. “No! Never any more!”
Slowly, she raised her head to look at him again. Immediately, thoroughly, satisfyingly, he kissed her. For a moment, a fleeting fraction of time, it seemed to him that the soft lips had answered the pressure of his.
But then she broke free. “Mr. Hastings!” She stamped her foot. “How dare——”
A grin of delight was on his face. “ ’Sno use,” he murmured. “ ’Sno use any more. I’m not frightened of you now, you darling!” He snatched at her again.
From the floor there came again that hoarse mutter. Again they didn’t hear it.
“And you know you’ve been in love with me for years,” said Hastings.
“Oh! I have not!” She was all indignation. Suddenly it went. “Yes, I have, though—for months, anyway. Oh, Jack, Jack, why didn’t you do this before?”