Elsie's face was one pink flush, and Tinker was scarlet.
"That--that was a very funny kiss," she said in a curious voice.
"Oh, what's a kiss ?" said Tinker, with forced bravado, consumed with boyish shame for the lapse.
"I--I--liked it," said Elsie.

"No one has kissed me since father died." And her breath seemed to catch.
"Girls like kissing," said Tinker in a tone of a dispassionate observer.

Then he seemed to thrust the matter away from him with some eagerness: and, slipping her arm through his, he said, "Come on, let's walk up and down." They walked up and down, chattering away, till eight o'clock.

Then he said, "My father will be expecting me; he dines at eight.

Won't you come too ?" "No, no, thank you.