ke a lad taking a holiday.

He had always been fond of Beatrice Wyld, and during his furlough he
picked up with her again. She was stronger and better in health. The
two often went long walks together, Arthur taking her arm in soldier's
fashion, rather stiffly. And she came to play the piano whilst he sang.
Then Arthur would unhook his tunic collar. He grew flushed, his eyes
were bright, he sang in a manly tenor. Afterwards they sat together on
the sofa. He seemed to flaunt his body: she was aware of him so--the
strong chest, the sides, the thighs in their close-fitting trousers.

He liked to lapse into the dialect when he talked to her. She would
sometimes smoke with him. Occasionally she would only take a few whiffs
at his cigarette.

"Nay," he said to her one evening, when she reached for his cigarette.
"Nay, tha doesna. I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss if ter's a mind."

"I wanted a whiff, no kiss at all," she answered.

"Well, an' tha s'lt ha'e a whiff," he said, "along wi' t' kiss."

"I want a draw at thy fag," she cried, snatching for the cigarette
between his lips.

He was sitting with his shoulder touching her. She was small and quick
as lightning. He just escaped.

"I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss," he said.

"Tha'rt a knivey nuisance, Arty Morel," she said, sitting back.

"Ha'e a smoke kiss?"

The soldier leaned forward to her, smiling. His face was near hers.

"Shonna!" she replied, turning away her head.

He took a draw at his cigarette, and pursed up his mouth, and put his
lips close to her. His dark-brown cropped moustache stood out like a
brush. She looked at the puckered crimson lips, then suddenly snatched
the cigarette from his fingers and darted away. He, leaping after her,
seized the comb from her back hair. She turned, threw the cigarette at
him. He picked it up, put it in his mouth, and sat down.

"Nuisance!" she cried. "Give me my comb!"

She was afraid that her hair, specially done for him, would come down.
She stood with her hands to her head. He hid the comb between his knees.

"I've non got it," he said.

The cigarette trembled between his lips with laughter as he spoke.

"Liar!" she said.

"'S true as I'm here!" he laughed, showing his hands.

"You brazen imp!" she exclaimed, rushing and scuffling for the comb,
which he had under his knees. As she wrestled with him, pulling at his
smooth, tight-covered knees, he laughed till he lay back on the sofa
shaking with laughter. The c