“Well,” she said, with fluttering eyelids, “isn’t that enough?”
He looked at her, and the playful, companionable directness of her answering gaze thrilled him through and through. He studied her face in silence while she turned and twisted, feeling, but scarcely understanding, the deep import of his scrutiny.
“Well,” he said at last, “I think you’re a fine girl. Don’t you think I’m a pretty nice man?”
“Yes,” said Jennie, promptly.
He leaned back in his chair and laughed at the unconscious drollery of her reply. She looked at him curiously, and smiled.
“What made you laugh?” she inquired.
“Oh, your answer” he returned. “I really ought not to laugh, though. You don’t appreciate me in the least. I don’t believe you like me at all.”
“But I do, though,” she replied, earnestly. “I think you’re so good.” Her eyes showed very plainly that she felt what she was saying.
“Well,” he said, drawing her gently down to him; then, at the same instant, he pressed his lips to her cheek.
“Oh!” she cried, straightening up, at once startled and frightened.