FLAMING
YOUTH
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transient import, that it had remained to him to awaken her. “Boasting,” Pat would have said. She was awaiting him in the music room. “I thought you were never coming,” she sighed. “But the. others aren’t up yet.” She half lifted her arms, expectant, enticing. “Wait,” said he. She gave him a quick glance, puzzled, ena a little angry. ‘“You’re going to scold me, It was all your fault.” “Absolutely. If there is anyone to be scolded it’s I.” “It wasn’t,” she declared with one of her vehement and
point-blank reversals. “I did it.” Her face took on its most impish expression. “Bad bunny! I don’t care.” “I care,” he said evenly. “More than I could have believed it possible to care. I love you, Pat.” “Oh, no!” she protested. “I didn’t want you to say that.” “What did you expect?” he demanded, taken aback. “Did you want this to be just a cheap and easy little flirtation—a flutter, as you call it?” “No-o. I didn’t want it to be that. I wanted you to— to like me. But why did you have to say that?” “As a justification.
No, not quite that; nothing can
justify me. But as an excuse, not for myself, but for you.” “For me? I don’t understand.” “Think, Pat.” His voice was very gentle. Her dark, delicate brows drew down in concentration.
“Yes; I think I do see.
You mean you would not have
kissed me that way without—without thinking a lot of me.” “I mean that I should not be here now if I were not deeply and wholly in love with you.”
