"Very. Altogether I think you're a comical girl, Fawnie. I begin to understand."
"Understan' what? I know. Why Durek loves me." Her arms stole about his neck and her head drooped toward his. He felt the supple fingers interlaced beneath his chin. It seemed that he could not free himself—for a moment at least—but must softly thump out the languid waltz, his eyes half-shut, his head against her breast. Then, before he made the attempt, her cheek was pressed to his, and her lips had touched him, somewhere near the mouth.
He turned his head in her arms and looked towards the door. Derek had come in.
"Oh, Lord," cried Edmund, freeing himself. "This is only a joke, Derek."
Derek caught Fawnie by the arm and jerked her savagely away from his brother. "Never do that again," he said.
She hunched her shoulders like a child, half-laughing, half-crying.
"She didn't mean anything," said Edmund, his face scarlet. "She was just thanking me for the music."
"I'll thank you for any music you make," replied Derek, also flushed. "Come along, let us go out."
They passed Fawnie without looking at her, and went out of doors.
The air was still; the sunlight dim and ruddy with the haze of distant forest fires. Tiny yellow leaves fluttered from the locust trees and lay like little gold coins upon the grass. The baby blinked up at the two young men, narrowing his eyes, and stretching his lips in a smile.
"Why, he's laughing," said Edmund. "I didn't know they laughed at that age. What's the joke?"
"He sees me. He thinks I'm funny for some reason. When he flaps his hands that way he wants to be taken up." Derek picked him up and looked over his downy head at
