awfully sorry. I suppose you think me more of a brute than ever now."
"Oh," she exclaimed quiveringly, "how could you do that? How could you think I would be willing—"
"I didn't think at all," he said. "I did it on the spur of the moment. You looked so—so—oh, I can't think of a word to describe how you looked."
"Please tell me. I wish to know," she said icily.
"Well—inviting, then."
"Do you mean consciously inviting?" There was a dangerous note in her voice.
"Don't be absurd! Unconsciously, of course. You simply made me forget myself. I'm sorry."
She was trembling all over.
"Perhaps," she said, courageously, "you were not much more to blame than I."
"My dear child—as though you could help the way you looked."
"Yes, but I went over to you, deliberately, when—oh, I cannot say it!" Yet, perversely, she wanted to say it.
"When you knew you were looking especially lovely—is that what you mean?"
"Not at all. It's no use—I cannot say it."
"Why make the effort? I'm willing to take all the blame. After all, a kiss isn't such a terrible thing, and I'm a relation. Men occasionally kiss their sisters-in-law. It will probably never happen again unless, as you say, you brazenly approach me when—what were you trying to say, Alayne? Now I come to think of it, I believe I have the right to know. It might save me more stabs of conscience."
"Oh, you make it all seem ridiculous. You make me feel very childish—very stupid."
He had seated himself on the fallen tree. Now he raised his eyes contritely to hers.
