he feigned desire to go into the house, yet
waited in secret eagerness for the words she wanted him to say.

"When am I goin' to see you again?" he asked, holding her hand in his.

She laughed consentingly.

"I live 'way up in East Oakland," he explained. "You know there's where
the stable is, an' most of our teaming is done in that section, so I
don't knock around down this way much. But, say--" His hand tightened
on hers. "We just gotta dance together some more. I'll tell you, the
Orindore Club has its dance Wednesday. If you haven't a date--have you?"

"No," she said.

"Then Wednesday. What time'll I come for you?"

And when they had arranged the details, and he had agreed that she
should dance some of the dances with the other fellows, and said good
night again, his hand closed more tightly on hers and drew her toward
him. She resisted slightly, but honestly. It was the custom, but she
felt she ought not for fear he might misunderstand. And yet she wanted
to kiss him as she had never wanted to kiss a man. When it came, her
face upturned to his, she realized that on his part it was an honest
kiss. There hinted nothing behind it. Rugged and kind as himself, it
was virginal almost, and betrayed no long practice in the art of saying
good-bye. All men were not brutes after all, was her thought.

"Good night," she murmured; the gate screeched under her hand; and
she hurried along the narrow walk that led around to the corner of the
house.

"Wednesday," he celled softly.

"Wednesday," she answered.

But in the shadow of the narrow alley between the two houses she stood
still and pleasured in the ring of his foot falls down the cement
sidewalk. Not until they had quite died away did she go on. She crept
up the back stairs and across the kitchen to her room, registering her
thanksgiving that Sarah was asleep.

She lighted the gas, and, as she removed the little velvet hat, she felt
her lips still tingling with the kiss. Yet it had meant nothing. It was
the way of the young men. They all did it. But their good-night kisses
had never tingled, while this one tingled in her brain as wall as on her
lip. What was it? What did it mean? With a sudden impulse she looked
at herself in the glass. The eyes were happy and bright. The color that
tinted her cheeks so easily was in them and glowing. It was a pretty
reflection, and she smiled, partly in joy, partly in appreciation, and
the smile grew at sight of the even rows of