"I shouldn't care much about it by myself," said Mr. Wriford. "Oh, I'd come with you," Essie assured him. "Nothing's much fun not when you do it by yourself. I say, whatever are you doing with that arm of yours on my shoulder?" "I'm not doing anything with it," said Mr. Wriford, and gave a little laugh, and said: "I'm going to, though." "What?" "This." "Oo-oo!" cried Essie. Mr. Wriford's "This" was bending his face to hers, and his arm slipped a little lower down her shoulders, and drawing her towards him. "Oo-oo-oo!" cried Essie and pressed away and turned away her head. "Oo-oo!" and then he kissed her cheek, then brought his other arm around and turned her face to his. "Oo-oo-oo! I say, you know!"--and there, close beneath his own, were those soft, expressive lips of hers, and twice he kissed them: and of a sudden she was relaxed in his arms, no longer struggling, and there were depths in those eyes of hers, and this time a long kiss. "There!" said Mr. Wriford and released her; and immediately two curious emotions followed in his mind. First, that, now the thing was over, it was over--completed, done, not attracting any more. "I say, you know!" said Essie, settling her hat and pouting at him: and all rosy she was, all radiant, enticingly pouting, pretending aggrievement--just the very blushes, pouts, and smiles to have it done again. But for Mr. Wriford not enticing at all: over, done; conceiving in him almost a distaste of it; and, moved a trifle away from her, he said hardly: "I suppose the lodger always does that, too?" "Well, most of 'em," said Essie cheerfully; and at that his new emotion quickened, and he made a petulant, angry movement with his shoulders. She detected his meaning just as she had detected the coldness in his voice as they came down towards the Gardens together a short while before. She detected his meaning, and answered him sharply, and the words of her defence and the manner of it broke out in him the second of the two emotions that followed his caprice. "Well, what's the odds to it if they have?" said Essie, sitting up very straight and speaking very tensely. "Where's the harm? It's only fun. Not as if I had a proper young fellow of my own. Take jolly good care if I had! Where's the harm? I like being kissed. I like to think some one's fond of me." Now, for all the sharpness of her tone, she looked appealing: a trifle of a flutter in those expressive lips of hers: a hint of a catch in her voice. Swiftly to Mr. Wriford came his second emotion. Poor little Essie that liked to think some one was fond of her! Jolly little Essie with her "Let's have a laugh!" Here was the kindest, cheeriest little creature in the world! Let him enjoy it! "That's all right, Essie," said Mr. Wriford and moved to her again and took her brown little hand. "Glad you think so, I'm sure!" said Essie. "That's my hand, if you've no objection," and she withdrew it.