“I am afraid we differ on almost every point.”
“No, I differ with you there again. Still, I must admit I would prefer being your enemy—”
“To being my friend?” said Miss Sommerton, quickly.
“No, to being entirely indifferent to you.”
“Really, Mr. Trenton, we are getting along very rapidly, are we not?” said the young lady, without looking up at him.
“Now, I am pleased to be able to agree with you there, Miss Sommerton. As I said before, an incident like this does more to ripen acquaintance or friendship, or—” The young man hesitated, and did not complete his sentence.
“Well,” said the artist, after a pause, “which is it to be, friends or enemies?”
“It shall be exactly as you say,” she replied.
“If you leave the choice to me, I shall say friends. Let us shake hands on that.”
She held out her hand frankly to him as he crossed over to her side, and as he took it in his own, a strange thrill passed through him, and acting on the impulse of the moment, he drew her toward him and kissed her.