"Helen," I cried, "you are indeed the most beautiful being God ever created, and--last June you kissed me--"
"I didn't!"
"--Or I kissed you, which is the same thing--after the Commencement reception, by the maple trees, in front of the chapter house; and----"
"And thence in an east-southeasterly direction; with all the hereditaments and appurtenances--Oh, you funny Old Preciseness!"
"And now I'm going to----" The words were brave, but there was something in the pose and poise of her--the wonder of her beauty, the majesty-- perhaps the slightest withdrawal, the start of surprise--that awed me. Lamely enough the sentence ended: "Helen, kiss me!" I begged, hoarsely.
For just a fraction of a second she hesitated. Then the merriment of coquetry again sparkled in her smile.
"Ah, but I'm afraid--" she mocked.
Her eyes danced with mischief as she drew away from me.
"I'm afraid of a man who's going to be a great city lawyer. And then--oh, listen!"
Hurried, ostentatiously heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. They stopped at the door, and some one fumbled noisily at the knob. There was a stage cough, and Kitty plunged into the room, carefully unnoticing.
"Such an idea for--a hippopotamus comic," she panted; "a darling! Sent drawings down--messenger--rushed back to sketch--"
Here she paused to take breath.
"--lest I forget."
Snatching off her gloves she resumed her place at the big table, and began making wild strokes with a crayon on a great sheet of cardboard.
"I just had to do it," said she apologetically over her shoulder; "but--don't mind me."