“You will not go away?” she said, and at last lifted her lashes, with a little pearl shining wet on each, like a swallow that has dipped her wings in a pool.
Then, because I could not help it, I did that which I had never done to any woman born of woman: I stooped and kissed the wet sweet eyes. And then, ere I knew it, with a little cry of frightened joy, the girl’s arms were about me. She lifted up her face, and kissed me again and again and yet again.
. . . . . . .
When I came to myself I was conscious of another presence in the kitchen. I looked up quickly, and there before me, standing with an ash switch swaying in her hand, was Alexander-Jonita. I had not supposed that she could have looked so stern.
“Well?” she said, as if waiting for my explanation.
“I love your sister,” I replied; for indeed, though I had not thought thus of the matter before, there seemed nothing else to be said.
But the face of Alexander-Jonita did not relax. She stood gazing at her sister, whose head rested quiet and content on my shoulder.
“Jean,” she said at last, “knowing that which you know, why have you done this?”
The girl lifted her head, and looked at Jonita with a kind of glad defiance.
“Sister,” she said, “you do not understand love. How should you know what one would do for love?”