"Oh! You've caught me!"
Sylvie took her arm, and they walked on, considerately suiting their steps to each other.
"Were you there long?" asked Annette.
"Oh! about a half-hour," Sylvie affirmed unhesitatingly.
"No?" exclaimed the credulous Annette.
"I followed your movements. I saw everything. Everything. You talked as you walked."
"It's not true, it's not true," protested Annette. "What a little liar! . . ."
Their two arms tightened. They began to chatter about the errands they had just done. They were perfectly happy. In the midst of an impassioned account of a White Sale at the Bon Marché, where one had been and where the other was going,—in the uproar of a street that they were crossing, slipping between the vehicles with the sure instinct of two little Parisiennes, Sylvie murmured in Annette's ear:
"You haven't kissed me!"
Annette's quick movement nearly crushed her. As they approached the sidewalk, still walking, their lips met. . . . Hugging each other closer, they were walking now along a quieter street, that led . . . Where did it lead? . . .