"Yes," Bessie sighed, almost contentedly. "I did want you, John. A girl gets tired of society, of clubs and dances and things, even in High. You know, I get weary of the sight of these slim, pompadoured boys sometimes. I just wanted somehow to feel the arm of a real man, to hear him talk, even if he does nothing but talk about himself, and until this minute in three days has not confessed that I have dimples, and--and a heart."
"Slow, about some things, am I not?" confessed John. "Awfully, awfully slow!"
"I will agree with you," said Bessie, with a mournfulness that literally compelled him to perceive that she was some way disappointed in him.
"But," he inquired reproachfully, "aside from my usefulness as a social escort and a sort of masculine tonic, you do admire me a little, don't you?"
"Oh, yes," she answered frankly. "I admire you a lot."
"But you're disappointed about something?"
"Apprehension is the better word," she confessed soberly.
"Apprehension? Of what?" John was looking at her almost accusingly. Bessie avoided his glance. She could not tell him what she feared nor why she feared it.
"No," disclaimed Bessie seriously. "I think you will succeed!"
"You think so?" and Hampstead's face lighted brilliantly. "Oh, God bless you for that!" and again he shook her, this time tenderly and drew her closer till her breast was touching his, and she leaned her head far back to look up into his face.
"Yes," she breathed softly, "I think so!"
"And you do not think me silly for turning my back upon solid realities to follow my ideal?"
"No! No!" and she shook her head emphatically, "I honor you for it, John. You have inspired me, John, and thrilled me. I used to think--how good you are! Now I think--how noble you are! You have made my feeling for you one of worshipfulness almost."
The look in her face did express that, and Hampstead noticed it now.
"Ah," he murmured, pressing her arms against her sides, "you dear, impressionable little girl!"
Quite thoughtless of how unnecessarily close he was drawing Bessie, either to shelter her from the wind or for the purpose of conversation, or especially in the fulfillment of his duty to his charge as guide and protector, John was finding a pleasurable sensation in this position of intimacy, and was indeed, just upon the threshold of one very great discovery when he made another, perhaps equally surprising, but vastly less important. Looking into the upturned eyes, which after the canons of Delsarte, he was thinking expressed "devotion" perfectly, a shadow was seen to project itself downward from the upper lids across the iris, as if a storm were gathering on a placid lake. John watched the shadow curiously as it deepened, until it became clear that a mist was congealing in those swimming violet depths.