“You do like all little girlth, don’t you?” she persisted with quavering lip. “You do, don’t you?”
It was a nightmare to William. They were standing in full view of the drawing-room window. At any moment a grown up might appear. He would be accused of brutality, of making little Violet Elizabeth cry. And, strangely enough, the sight of Violet Elizabeth with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips made him feel that he must have been brutal indeed. Beneath his horror he felt bewildered.
“Yes, I do,” he said hastily, “I do. Honest I do.”
She smiled again radiantly through her tears. “You with you wath a little girl, don’t you?”
“Er—yes. Honest I do,” said the unhappy William.
“Kith me,” she said raising her glowing face.
William was broken.
He brushed her cheek with his.
“Thath not a kith,” said Violet Elizabeth.
“It’s my kind of a kiss,” said William.