“Why, you dear boy, I believe you’re innocent like a child.  And yet you know so much about books ... and you’re so wise, too!”

As she spoke she pushed back my mad hands from their clutching and reaching.  She held both of them in hers, and closed them in against her half-uncovered, full breasts, pressing them there.

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never gone out with the boys for a good time?... how old are you?”

I told her I was just sixteen.

“Do you think I’m ...  I’m too young?” I asked.

“I feel as if I was your mother ... and I’m not much over twenty ... but do sit up on a chair, dear!”

She stood on her feet, shook out her dress, smiled curiously, and started out of the room.  I was up and after her, my arms around her waist, desperate.  She slid around in my arms, laughing quietly to herself till the back of her head was against my mouth.  I kissed and kissed the top of her head.  Then she turned slowly to face me, pressing all the contours of her body into me ... she crushed her bosom to mine.  Already I was quite tall; and she was stocky and short ... she lifted her face up to me, a curious kindling light in her eyes ... of a phosphorescent, greenish lustre, like those chance gleams in a cat’s eyes you catch at night....

She took my little finger and deliberately bit it ... then she leaned away from my seeking mouth, my convulsive arms....

“You want too much, all at once,” she said, and, whirling about broke away....

With the table between me and her....

“Wouldn’t you like a little beer, and some sandwiches?  I have some in the ice box.... Do let’s have some beer and sandwiches.”

I assented, though hating the bitter taste of beer, and hungry for her instead of sandwiches.  And soon we were sitting down calmly at the table, or rather, she was sitting down calmly ... baffled, I pretended to be calm.

As she rose for something or other, I sprang around the table and caught her close to me once more, marvelling, at the same time, at my loss of shyness, my new-found audacity.  Again she snuggled in close to me, her flesh like a warm, palpitating cushion.

“Flora, my darling ... help me!” I cried, half-sobbing.

“What do you mean?” laughing.

“I love you!”

“I know all you want!”

“But I do love you ... see....”

And I prostrated myself, in a frenzy, at her feet.

“Say, you’re the queerest kid I’ve ever known.”

And she walked out of the room abruptly, while I rose to my feet and sat in a chair, dejected.  She came in again, a twinkle in her eye.

“Don’t torture me, Flora!” I pleaded, “either send me away, or—­”

“Stop pestering me ... let’s talk ... read me some of that Tennyson you gave me....” and I began reading aloud, for there was nothing else she would for the moment, have me do....