“Just a whole lot.”
“You’ll be all right in a minute or two,” he whispered and put his arm around me.
I felt dizzy, helpless. I was however conscious of his drawing me to him and kissing me.
The blood surged through my head. I felt my face flush as I had never known it flush before. Intense with indignation as I was, the only words I could force from my lips were:
“Nobody can see us, can they?” What a fool, fool, fool, I was!
“You can rely on me for that,” and he kissed me again.
I realized I was drunk—the horror of it!—yet my mind seemed perfectly clear. I heard every sound, or thought I did, and all the facts of my situation came again and again to my mind. I found myself unable to protect myself against the indignity put upon me, although I endeavoured to protest. At length I managed to mutter.
“You mustn’t kiss me.”
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” he said laughingly, and kissed me again.
In my humiliation and weakness I again pictured my grandfather, the old army officer, the personification of honour and gentleness, and the contrast he bore to the skin-flint progenitor of the cad who had insulted me. With half a cry I broke from his embrace, and threw myself as far from him as the seat allowed.