The gray-haired man smiled good-naturedly and patted her cheek; and she held it up to be kissed, and nestled closer to him. Then she looked at the young man, and in her eyes there was still defiance, and, though she would not have shown it, some interest. She said, “I have heard so much about them that I should like to read them.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You are reckless.” And the bantering tone did not hide from her the significance that lay behind his words.
“You must show some of them to her,” said the gray-haired man to him.
“All right. I’ll hunt them up, some time, and send them to you,” said the young man to her.
“Have n’t you any here?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied; “but they are all love songs, and therefore not worth the reading.”
“Indeed!” she said. The gray-haired man patted her cheek indulgently. This time she did not upturn her face for a kiss. And in her voice there was an unnecessary indifference as she said to the young man, “Will you let me read them to-night?”
“Oh, no,” he replied, laughingly, though his eyes were serious.