“It was a year ago,” he pursued. “You had on a pink dress and wore your hair like a little girl in a plait down your back. Cynthia, you were the prettiest creature I had ever seen. I could hardly talk to you for wondering over your dazzling beauty. You are even more beautiful now; you have ripened; you are the most graceful woman I ever saw, and your mouth!—Cynthia, I'll swear you have the most maddening mouth God ever made out of flesh, blood and—soul!” He caught her hand impulsively and sat down on the stone, drawing her steadily towards him.
She hesitated, looking back towards Baker's cottage.
“Sit down, little girl,” he entreated, “I'm tired. I've worked hard all day at the store, and that corn-shucking wasn't the best thing to taper off on.” She hesitated an instant longer, and then allowed him to draw her down beside him. “There, now,” he said. “That is more like it.” He still held her hand; it lay warm, pulsating and helpless in his strong, feverish grasp.
“Do you know why I did not kiss you back there?” he asked, suddenly.
“I don't know why you didn't, but it was good of you,” she answered.
“No, it wasn't,” he laughed. “I won't take credit for what I don't deserve. I simply put it off, Cynthia—put it off. I knew we would be alone on our way home, and that you would not refuse me.”
“But I shall!” she said, with a start. “I'm not going to let you kiss me here in—in this way.”
“Then you'll not pay the forfeit you owe,” he said, fondling her hand. “I've always considered you fair in everything, and, Cynthia, you don't know how much I want to kiss you. No, you won't refuse me—you can't.” His left arm was behind her, and it encircled her waist. She made an effort to draw herself erect, but he drew her closer to him. Her head sank upon his shoulder and lay there while he pressed his lips to hers.
Then she sat up, and firmly pushed his arm down from her waist.
“I'm sorry I let you do it,” she said, under her breath.