It was astonishing how difficult he found it to make romantic speeches. He found that silence helped him much more than words. He could look inexpressible things. Miss Wilkinson sighed.
“Do you like me at all?”
“Yes, awfully.”
When he tried to kiss her again she did not resist. He pretended to be much more passionate than he really was, and he succeeded in playing a part which looked very well in his own eyes.
“I’m beginning to be rather frightened of you,” said Miss Wilkinson.
“You’ll come out after supper, won’t you?” he begged.
“Not unless you promise to behave yourself.”
“I’ll promise anything.”
He was catching fire from the flame he was partly simulating, and at tea-time he was obstreperously merry. Miss Wilkinson looked at him nervously.
“You mustn’t have those shining eyes,” she said to him afterwards. “What will your Aunt Louisa think?”