"Go to bed then."
"I won't. If you don't come in I shall stand here till mother comes.
I'll probably get pneumonia."
This threat evoked no reply.
"Neil," the name was said as only names are said that are new and
dear--not often used yet, but often dreamed over, but there was still no
answer.
"Neil, I'm awfully cold."
"I don't care."
"Oh, don't you?"
"You know I do. You know---- Oh, Judith, won't you please let me go? I
don't want to come in, I tell you."
"But you're coming?"
"Yes."
Yielding abruptly, he stepped into the hall beside her. Judith, suddenly
silent, concerned herself conscientiously with the chain.
"Don't stand there like that. I can't fasten this if you do," she said
breathlessly.
"Why?"
"Go into the library, and don't light the lights, if you're afraid of
pigtails."
"I'm not afraid of--anything."
"Well--I'm not." With a reckless laugh, which made this comprehensive
challenge to the world still more comprehensive, she followed him into
the firelit room. Slender and straight in soft-falling white, her face
flushed and sweet, framed between silvery gold braids, her eyes wide and
challenging, she stood looking at him across the hearth.
He faced her awkwardly but bravely, tall in the shadowy room, his face
very white, his dark eyes catching the last rays of light from the dying
fire. The two did not move or speak till he gave a sudden, shaken laugh.
"You wanted to talk to me--talk." He smiled a quick flashing smile.
Judith drew away from him and he followed. "Now you've got me here,
can't you shake hands with me?"
"Neil, be careful."
"I'm doing the best I can," he said in a choked voice. "You shouldn't
get me here. You shouldn't get me to a house by night that's not open to
me by day."
"But it is. Only they'll never let me see you alone, and I like to. I
like to talk to you. It makes me feel--comfortable. Isn't it comfortable
here?" Judith paused, overcome by an unaccountable difficulty with her
breathing, but mastered it. "Comfortable and cozy? Aren't you glad you
came in?"
"Comfortable!" He laughed, came two steps nearer to her, and
stopped stiffly. Judith, disposing her soft, silky draperies daintily,
observed him in silence from a big chair which she had taken possession
of rather abruptly, faintly smiling.
"Don't look at me like that," he commanded.
"Like what? Sit down--over there, Neil. Isn't it cozy? Willard's got a
new song that----"
"Willard!"
"Don't be cross. We--haven't very much time."
"Judith, where is this getting us? We're not children. Won't you talk
straight to me? You ought to leave me alone, or talk straight."
"Please don't be cross."
"Cross!" He came across the hearth and stood close before her, awkward
no longer, but splendid with youth in the firelight, his dark eyes
shining.
"You knew I'd come, no matter how hard I tried not to?"
"Yes," Judith breathed.
"And you meant to let me in?"
"Oh, yes."
"And you know, if I come, if you let me, I can't help--can't help----"
"What?"
"Oh, Judith!" He dropped on his knees beside her and hid his face.
Judith did not touch the dark head that she could see dimly in the
shadowy room, outlined against her cloudy white, but she leaned closer
to it, her lips parting softly, her eyes wide and strange.
"I don't want you to help it," she breathed.
"But where will it get us?" pleaded a muffled voice.
"I don't care." Her hand hovered over the dark hair, touching it with
the wonderful, blended awkwardness and adroitness of first caresses.
He brushed the butterfly touch away and raised his head and looked long
at her, slipping both arms round her waist and holding her tight.
"Will you always say that?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, Judith!" Her sweet, flushed face was close above him now, eyes
drooping, lips faintly apart, drawn down to his as gently and inevitably
as tired eyes close into sleep. "Judith, some day you'll have to care."
"Not yet. Neil, don't talk any more."
"I--can't."
"Then kiss me."