he trolled, and Caro was suddenly afraid lest someone should hear in the house. She glanced back uneasily over her shoulder.
"Papa on the look-out?"
She coloured, and began to stutter something.
"I've been to a wedding," he said conversationally; "a proper wedding with girls and kisses."
He suddenly leaned over the gate and kissed Caro on the lips.
She gave a little scream and started back from him. For a moment earth, sky, and trees seemed to reel together in one crazy dance. She was conscious of nothing but the kiss, her first kiss; it had smelt and tasted strongly of brandy, if the truth were told, but it had none the less been a kiss, and her sacrament of initiation. She stood there in the darkness with parted lips and shining eyes. The dusk was kind to her, and she pleased the sailor.
"Come out for a walk," he said, and lifted the latch.
Caro trembled so that she could hardly move, and once again came the feeling that she ought to turn and run back into the house. But she was powerless in the clutch of her long-thwarted emotions. The tipsy sailor became God to her, and she followed him out on to the Moor.
After all he was not really drunk, only a little fuddled. He walked straight, and his roll was natural to him, while though he was exceedingly cheerful, and often burst into song, his words were not jumbled, and he generally seemed to have a fair idea of what he was saying.