"Well, what?" she whispered.
He bent and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, adventurous and playful. Not so had Warren Graves's eager and searching lips closed down upon hers. Pat was both disappointed of her expected thrill, and unaccountably relieved and reassured. A queer, inward fluttering which had unbalanced her thoughts for the moment when the appropriative arm encircled her, was stilled. Suddenly she felt quite mistress of herself and the situation. She proceeded now according to a formula which she was improvising, and which millions of girls had improvised before her.
"What did you do that for?" she murmured.
"Didn't you want me to?"
Pat abandoned her formula before it was fairly under way. "I suppose I did," she admitted.
Expectant of the usual "No," he was startled, amused, and a little roused. "Did you?" he said.
He drew her closer, bent his mouth to hers again, felt a swift stir at the sweet, soft pressure, followed by a sensible chilling as she turned away to say thoughtfully:
"I wonder why I did."
"You're a queer kid," he observed genuinely. "But there's something mighty sweet about you."
"Is there?" she cried, charmed with the direct flattery.