s_ going to rain," she said.

They both laughed.

He plumped down beside her, uncomfortably wedged between her and the
rail. He caught her hand, intertwined their fingers so savagely that
her knuckles hurt. "Look here," he commanded, "you don't really think
it's going to rain any such a darn thing! I've come fourteen billion hot
miles up here for just fifteen minutes--yes, and you wanted to see me
yourself, too! And now you want to talk about the history of recent
rains."

In the bitter-sweet spell of his clasp she was oblivious of street,
children, sky. She tried to withdraw her hand, but he squeezed her
fingers the more closely and their two hands dropped on her thin knee,
which tingled to the impact.

"But--but what did you want to see me about?" Her superiority was burnt
away.

He answered her hesitation with a trembling demand. "I can't talk to you
here! Can't we go some place-- Come walk toward the river."

"Oh, I daren't really, Walter. My mother feels so--so fidgety to-night
and I must go back to her.... By and by."

"But would you like to go with me?"

"Yes!"

"Then that's all that matters!"

"Perhaps--perhaps we could go up on the roof here for just a few
minutes. Then I must send you home."

"Hooray! Come on."

He boldly lifted her to her feet, followed her up the stairs. On the
last dark flight, near the roof, he threw both arms about her and kissed
her. She was amazed that she did not want to kiss him back, that his
abandon did not stir her. Even while she was shocked and afraid, he
kissed again, and she gave way to his kiss; her cold mouth grew
desirous.

She broke away, with shocked pride--shocked most of all at herself, that
she let him kiss her thus.

"You quiver so to my kiss!" he whispered, in awe.

"I don't!" she denied. "It just doesn't mean anything."

"It does, and you know it does. I had to kiss you. Oh, sweetheart,
sweetheart, we are both so lonely! Kiss me."

"No, no!" She held him away from her.

"Yes, I tell you!"

She encircled his neck with her arm, laid her cheek beside his chin,
rejoiced boundlessly in the man roughness of his chin, of his
coat-sleeve, the man scent of him--scent of tobacco and soap and hair.
She opened her lips to his. Slowly she drew her arm from about his neck,
his arm from about her waist.

"Walter!" she mourned, "I did want you. But you must be good to me--not
kiss me like that--not now, anyway, when I'm lonely for you and can't
resist yo