Something in his manner caused the girl to recoil. The shrinking movement did not escape Druce.
“What’s the matter, girlie?” he inquired. “Do you know that in all the weeks I have been coming down here from Chicago to see you, you haven’t even kissed me?”
“Please,” pleaded the girl, pushing him away. She scarcely understood her mood. She only knew she did not want Druce to touch her.
“What’s the matter?” repeated Druce, following close behind her.
“I—I don’t know,” faltered the girl, “I feel wicked somehow.”
“Why?” He led her to a bench and sat down beside her. “Haven’t I always treated you like a lady?”
“Yes, Martin, you’ve been good to me—but—I feel wicked.”
Druce laughed. “Nonsense, girlie,” he said, “you couldn’t be wicked if you tried. Do you know what you ought to do?”
“What?” she asked.
“Turn your back on this town where nothing ever happens and come to little old Chicago, the live village by the lake.”