A playful gamboling relationship had existed between them when she was a mere child attending school, and had continued through her college years whenever she happened to be at home on a vacation.

In these very latest days when Cowperwood on occasion sat in the Haguenin library consulting with the journalist-publisher concerning certain moves which he wished to have put right before the public he saw considerably more of Cecily.

One night, when her father had gone out to look up the previous action of the city council in connection with some matter of franchises, a series of more or less sympathetic and understanding glances suddenly culminated in Cecily's playfully waving a new novel, which she happened to have in her hand, in Cowperwood's face; and he, in reply, laid hold caressingly of her arms.
"You can't stop me so easily," she observed, banteringly.
"Oh yes, I can," he replied.
A slight struggle ensued, in which he, with her semiwilful connivance, managed to manoeuver her into his arms, her head backward against his shoulder.
"Well," she said, looking up at him with a semi-nervous, semi-provocative glance, "now what?
You'll just have to let me go." "Not very soon, though." "Oh yes, you will.

My father will be here in a moment." "Well, not until then, anyhow.

You're getting to be the sweetest girl." She did not resist, but remained gazing half nervously, half dreamily at him, whereupon he smoothed her cheek, and then kissed her.