“I’m damned if I will.  That man back there, Denslow—­he’s the sort who would kiss a girl and then crawl about it afterwards.  I won’t.  I’m not sorry.  A strong man can digest his own sins.  I kissed you because I wanted to.  It wasn’t an impulse.  I meant to when we started.  And you’re only doing the conventional thing and pretending to be angry.  You’re not angry.  Good God, girl, be yourself once in a while.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”  Her voice was haughty.  “And I must ask you to stop the car and let me get out.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort, of course.  Now get this straight, Miss Cardew.  I haven’t done you any harm.  I may have a brutal way of showing that I’m crazy about you, but it’s my way.  I’m a man, and I’m no hand kisser.”

And when she said nothing: 

“You think I’m unrestrained, and I am, in a way.  But if I did what I really want to do, I’d not take you home at all.  I’d steal you.  You’ve done something to me, God knows what.”

“Then I can only say I’m sorry,” Lily said slowly.

She felt strangely helpless and rather maternal.  With all his strength this sort of man needed to be protected from himself.  She felt no answering thrill whatever to his passion, but as though, having told her he loved her, he had placed a considerable responsibility in her hands.

“I’ll be good now,” he said.  “Mind, I’m not sorry.  But I don’t want to worry you.”

He made no further overtures to her during the ride, but he was neither sulky nor sheepish.  He feigned an anxiety as to the threatened strike, and related at great length and with extreme cleverness of invention his own efforts to prevent it.

“I’ve a good bit of influence with the A.F.L.,” he said.  “Doyle’s in bad with them, but I’m still solid.  But it’s coming, sure as shooting.  And they’ll win, too.”

He knew women well, and he saw that she was forgiving him.  But she would not forget.  He had a cynical doctrine, to the effect that a woman’s first kiss of passion left an ineradicable mark on her, and he was quite certain that Lily had never been so kissed before.

Driving through the park he turned to her: 

“Please forgive me,” he said, his mellow voice contrite and supplicating.  “You’ve been so fine about it that you make me ashamed.”

“I would like to feel that it wouldn’t happen again:  That’s all.”

“That means you intend to see me again.  But never is a long word.  I’m afraid to promise.  You go to my head, Lily Cardew.”  They were halted by the traffic, and it gave him a chance to say something he had been ingeniously formulating in his mind.  “I’ve known lots of girls.  I’m no saint.  But you are different.  You’re a good woman.  You could do anything you wanted with me, if you cared to.”

And because she was young and lovely, and because he was always the slave of youth and beauty, he meant what he said.  It was a lie, but he was lying to himself also, and his voice held unmistakable sincerity.  But even then he was watching her, weighing the effect of his words on her.  He saw that she was touched.