The girl laughed and coloured, visibly embarrassed. She darted a quick glance at me, then veiled her eyes again.
“The brief action, as you call it, seems rather impulsive now in the glare of daylight, and was equivalent to much more than the monosyllable ‘Yes’. Three times as much. It was equivalent to the trisyllable ‘Sympathy.’ I was merely expressing sympathy.”
“Was that all?”
“Wasn’t that more than enough? I have thought since, with shame, that my action was just a trifle over-bold, and I fear you are of the same opinion, although too kind-hearted to show it.”
“My whole thought was a protest against its brevity.”
“But brevity is the soul of wit, you know.”
“Yes, Hilda,” said I, leaning forward toward her, “but not the soul of kissing. If my right arm had not temporarily lost its power you had never escaped with the celerity you did. ‘Man wants but little here below,’ and I want that little monosyllable rather than the large trisyllable. Make me for ever happy by saying you meant it.”
“For ever is a long time,” she answered dreamily, her eyes partially closed.
“Miss Stretton, will you oblige me by going downstairs; I wish to talk to Mr. Tremorne.”