"If I ever knew of another man's touching you," he said, "I'd feel like strangling him." He laughed at himself. "Not that I should strangle him. That sort of thing isn't done any more. But I'd do something devilish." "But I haven't promised not to kiss anyone else," she said. "Why should I? I don't love you." He looked at her strangely. "But you're going to love me," he said. She shrank within herself again. She looked at him with uneasy eyes. "You won't kiss me any more until I tell you that I do love you?" she asked with the gravity and pathos and helplessness of a child. "Don't you want to learn to love me?--to learn to love?" She was silent--a silence that maddened him. "Don't be afraid to speak," he said irritably. "What are you thinking?" "That I don't want you to kiss me--and that I do want father to be happy." Was this guile? Was it innocence? He put his arms round her. "Look at me," he said. She gazed at him frankly. "You like me?" "Yes." "Why don't you want me to kiss you?" "I don't know. It makes me--dislike you." He released her. She laid her hand on his arm eagerly. "Please--" she implored. "I don't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't offend you for anything. Only--when you ask me a question--mustn't I tell you the truth?" "Always," he said, believing in her, in spite of the warnings of cynical worldliness. "I don't know whether you are sincere or not--as yet. So for the present I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He stood back and looked at her from head to foot. "You are beautiful!--perfect," he said in a low voice. He laughed. "I'll resist the temptation to kiss you again. I must go now. About your father--I'll see what can be done." She stood with her hands behind her back, looking up at him with an expression he could not fathom. Suddenly she advanced, put up her lips and said gravely, "Won't you kiss me?" He eyed her quizzically. "Oh--you've changed your mind?" She shook her head. "Then why do you ask me to kiss you?" "Because of what you said about father." He laughed and kissed her. And then she, too, laughed. He said, "Not for my own sake--not a little bit?" "Oh, yes," she cried, "when you kiss me that way. I like to be kissed. I am very affectionate." He laughed again. "You _are_ a queer one. If it's a game, it's a good one. Is it a game?" "I don't know," said she gayly. "Good night. This is dreadfully late for me." "Good night," he said, and they shook hands. "Do you like me better--or less?" "Better," was her prompt, apparently honest reply. "Curiously enough, I'm beginning to _like_ you," said he. "Now don't ask me what I mean by that. If you don't know already, you'll not find out from me." "Oh, but I do know," cried she. "The way you kissed me--that was one thing. The way you feel toward me now--that's a different thing. Isn't it so?" "Exactly. I see we are going to get on." "Yes, indeed."