Elfride sat down, and Stephen sat beside her.
'I am afraid it is hardly proper of us to be here, either,' she
said half inquiringly. 'We have not known each other long enough
for this kind of thing, have we!'
'Oh yes,' he replied judicially; 'quite long enough.'
'How do you know?'
'It is not length of time, but the manner in which our minutes
beat, that makes enough or not enough in our acquaintanceship.'
'Yes, I see that. But I wish papa suspected or knew what a VERY
NEW THING I am doing. He does not think of it at all.'
'Darling Elfie, I wish we could be married! It is wrong for me to
say it--I know it is--before you know more; but I wish we might
be, all the same. Do you love me deeply, deeply?'
'No!' she said in a fluster.
At this point-blank denial, Stephen turned his face away
decisively, and preserved an ominous silence; the only objects of
interest on earth for him being apparently the three or four-score
sea-birds circling in the air afar off.
'I didn't mean to stop you quite,' she faltered with some alarm;
and seeing that he still remained silent, she added more
anxiously, 'If you say that again, perhaps, I will not be quite--
quite so obstinate--if--if you don't like me to be.'
'Oh, my Elfride!' he exclaimed, and kissed her.
It was Elfride's first kiss. And so awkward and unused was she;
full of striving--no relenting. There was none of those apparent
struggles to get out of the trap which only results in getting
further in: no final attitude of receptivity: no easy close of
shoulder to shoulder, hand upon hand, face upon face, and, in
spite of coyness, the lips in the right place at the supreme
moment.
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