“Go up head again. You’re going to stay there.”
When she gave him her hand on their parting for the night, he held it a moment. A subtle combination of things made him do it. The calculations, the measurements, the nest from which one could look out over the Bronx, were prevailing elements in its make-up. Ann had been in each room of the Harlem flat, and she always vaguely reminded him of Ann.
“We are relations, ain’t we?” he asked.
“I am sure we often seem quite near relations—Temple.” She added the name with very pretty kindness.
“We’re not distant ones any more, anyhow,” he said. “Are we near enough—would you let me kiss you good night, Miss Alicia?”
An emotional flush ran up to her cap ribbons.
“Indeed, my dear boy—indeed, yes.”
Holding her hand with a chivalric, if slightly awkward, courtesy, he bent, and kissed her cheek. It was a hearty, affectionately grateful young kiss, which, while it was for herself, remotely included Ann.
“It’s the first time I’ve ever said good night to any one like that,” he said. “Thank you for letting me.”
He patted her hand again before releasing it. She went up-stairs blushing and feeling rather as though she had been proposed to, and yet, spinster though she was, somehow quite understanding about the nest and Ann.