rsons. 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. That graceful though apparently
accidental falling into position, which many have noticed as
precipitating the end and making sweethearts the sweeter, was not here.
Why? Because experience was absent. A woman must have had many kisses
before she kisses well.

In fact, the art of tendering the lips for these amatory salutes follows
the principles laid down in treatises on legerdemain for performing
the trick called Forcing a Card. The card is to be shifted nimbly,
withdrawn, edged under, and withal not to be offered till the moment the
unsuspecting person's hand reaches the pack; this forcing to be done so
modestly and yet so coaxingly, that the person trifled with imagines he
is really choosing what is in fact thrust into his hand.

Well, there were no such facilities now; and