Their lips were almost touching when a noise brought them to themselves with a shock. It was Mamie. She entered the room bearing a tray on which were sandwiches, cakes, and tall glasses in which cracked ice clinked coolingly. Kenneth hid his annoyance and, with as nonchalant an air as possible, went back to his chair.
When they had eaten, Jane rose to go. Kenneth walked home with her. Neither spoke until they had reached her gate. Jane entered as Kenneth held it open for her. He would have followed her in but she turned, extended her hand to him as a sign of dismissal, and asked him to leave her there. Kenneth said nothing, but his face showed his disappointment at being hastened away by the same girl who less than half an hour before had almost been in his arms.
“Please don’t say anything, Ken,” she pleaded. “It was my fault—I shouldn’t have done what I did. I used to worship you when I was little, but I thought I had gotten over that—until to-night.”
Her voice sank almost to a whisper. In it was a note of trouble and perplexity. She went on:
“I—oh, Kenneth—what happened to-night must not be repeated.”
Puzzled and a bit hurt, he asked her what she meant.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, Ken. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you for the world.”
“But what is it, Jane?” begged Kenneth. “I love you, Jane, have always loved you. I was blind—until to-night⸺”
Kenneth poured forth the words in a torrent of emotion. Whirling thoughts tore through his brain. He sought to seize Jane’s hand and draw her to him, but she eluded him.
“No—no—Kenneth, you mustn’t. I can’t let you make love to me. Let’s be friends, Ken, and enjoy these few days and forget all we’ve said to-night, won’t you, please?” she ended pleadingly.