The Making of a Saint

by W. Somerset Maugham

'I am very sorry,' I said, laughing, 'but I cannot help it.'

'I think it is horrid of you,' she remarked.

'You have so many adorers,' I said in expostulation.

'Yes, but I want more,' she smiled.

'But what good can it do you to have all these people in love with you?'

'I don't know,' she said, 'it is a pleasant sensation.'

'What a child you are!' I answered, laughing.

She bent forward seriously.

'But are you not at all in love with me?'

I shook my head. She came close up to me, so that her hair brushed lightly against my cheek; it sent a shiver through me. I looked at her tiny ear; it was beautifully shaped, transparent as a pink shell. Unconsciously, quite without intention, I kissed it. She pretended to take no notice, and I was full of confusion. I felt myself blushing furiously.