"I do, indeed," I admit, eagerly. "Lay any penance you like upon me, and I will not shrink from it. I will do whatever you ask." "Will you?" quickly. "Then kiss me of your own accord. I don't believe up to this, Phyllis, you have ever yet done so of your own sweet will." "I will do it now, then," I return, heroically, and straight away, raising myself on tiptoe, without the smallest pretense at prudery, I fling myself into his arms and kiss him with all my heart. No accomplished coquette seeking after effect could have achieved a more complete success by her arts than I have by this simple act, which is with me an everyday occurrence where the boys are concerned. By it I have obtained a thousand pardons, if need be. He is evidently surprised, and grows a little pale, then smiles, and strains me to him with passionate fervor. "My darling--my own! Oh, Phyllis! if I could only make you love me!" he whispers, longingly. "Marmaduke," I say presently, in a rather bashful tone, trifling with the lapel of his coat. "Well, my pet?" "I have something to say to you." "Have you, darling?" "I want to tell you that I think I must be growing fond of you." "My angel!" "Yes. And do you know why I think so?" "No. I cannot imagine how anything so unlikely and desirable should come to pass." "I will tell you. Do you remember how, long ago when first you kissed me, I disliked it so much that it made me cry?" "Yes." "Well, now I find I don't mind it one bit!" Instead of being struck with the good sense of this discovery, Marmaduke roars with laughter. "Oh, you needn't laugh," I say, slightly offended: "it is a very good sign. I have read in books how girls shudder and shiver when kissed by a man they don't like; and, as I never shudder or shiver when you kiss me, of course that means that I like you immensely. Don't you see?" "I do," says Marmaduke, who is still laughing heartily. "And I also see it is an excellent reason why I should instantly kiss you again. Oh, Phyllis! I think if we looked into the family Bible we would discover we had all mistaken your age, and that you are only ten instead of eighteen." "Why?" "For many reasons. Come; let us walk on." As lunch-hour approaches, we retrace our steps until we reach the principal avenue. Here Mr. Carrington declines my invitation to enter the house and partake of such light refreshments as may be going, and departs with a promise to take us for a drive the following day. Nature tells me the luncheon-hour must be past, and, impelled by hunger, I run down the gravel sweep at the top of my speed; but, just as I get to the thick bunch of laurels that conceals the house from view, Billy's voice, coming from nowhere in particular, stops me. Presently from between the evergreens his head emerges. "I thought he was with you," he says, with an air of intense relief. "Well?" "Well?" I reiterate.