"Of course I will write to you. And you'll send me your picture, won't you? You said you would."
"I don't believe I have any," demurred Celia; "and mamma has them all; and they're very comspensive."
"I'll give you one of mine," offered Bobby, "if I have to get it from the album. Please, Celia."
"I'll see," said she.
They were moving again slowly beneath the trees.
Bobby looked up the street; he looked back. He turned swiftly to her.
"Celia," he asked, "may I kiss you?"
"Yes," said Celia steadily.
She stopped short, looking straight ahead. Bobby leaned over and his lips just touched her cool smooth cheek. They walked on in silence. The next day Celia was gone.