Part 15 (1/2)

”Possibly, touch your lips with his?”

Miss Fern rose to her feet with a fierce gesture.

”Sir!” she exclaimed.

”Very well,” replied Mr. Weil, shortly, turning away.

The girl resumed her seat, with rapidly rising and falling bosom. She was in a quandary. The suggestion she had heard would have sounded from any other lips like a premeditated insult. Coming from this man the venom seemed to have vanished.

Roseleaf felt somewhat discouraged after his latest talk with Weil. He wanted to make a start, to do something, no matter how little, toward the object he fully believed was to be attained. That evening while walking with Miss Fern (for it was their frequent habit to go out of doors unchaperoned) he found himself unconsciously taking her hand--that hand for which he had until now felt a genuine fright. And she, after all her resolutions never to permit anything of the sort, gave it to him, as they strolled together along an unfrequented byway.

”I want so much to make a Name,” he was saying fervently. ”I have tried and tried to begin such a book as Mr. Gouger wants, but I cannot. Won't you help me, dear Miss Fern? Won't you show me what I lack? I know you can, if you will. They tell me I have had no experiences, and that I must have--not a real affair, you know, but an inkling of what it is like. I have tried to say things to you and have been in fear that you would not like them, and have held my peace. But now, I can wait no longer.”

In his exuberance Roseleaf spoke at last with ardor, and even went so far as to attempt to put one of his arms around the waist of the fair creature by his side. On her part Miss Fern was nearly overcome by surprise.

In one instant the timid young gentleman had changed into the similitude of a most ardent swain; but in the next he became again his natural self, with the added confusion resulting from his excited and mortified state.

”Let me take you home,” he said, when he saw that she could find no words even to chide him. ”Let me take you home; and to-morrow I will go away.”

Go away! She did not like that idea! Her book was not yet finished, for one thing; and besides he was a nice young fellow, and had meant no offense.

”There is no reason why you should go,” she stammered. ”I forgive you, I am sure.”

”Do you!” cried Roseleaf, grasping her hand again in his joy. ”You are kindness itself to say so. I must appear very stupid” (here he half put his arm around her again, checking himself with difficulty from completeing the movement) ”and dull, and wanting in manners, but you are the only young lady I have ever known on terms of the least intimacy.”

Miss Fern replied that she did not mind what had occurred, and hoped he would forget it. She added that she would do anything she could for him, and had the most earnest wish that they should be friends.

At the gate they paused, and in some way their eyes were looking into each other. The girl laughed, a relief to feelings that had been for the past ten minutes somewhat overcharged.

”Well, you have made a beginning,” she said, mischievously, for she wanted to drive the sober expression from his clouded face.

”A beginning?” he echoed.

”Yes,” she said. ”You have held my hand.”

He crimsoned.

”You said you would forgive me,” he murmured.

”With all my heart,” she responded, putting the hand in his again.

He felt a thrill go through him, but it was a pleasant sensation.

”I came very near putting my arm around you,” said he, looking away from her. ”Do you forgive that, too?”

She took the hand away and struck him playfully on the cheek with the palm of it.

Then, before he surmised what she intended, she ran brightly up the steps of the house and vanished.