Hugh wrote two letters before he went to bed, one to his mother and
father and the other to Helen Simpson. His letter to Helen was very
brief, merely a request for her photograph.
Then, his mind in a whirl of excitement, he went to bed and lay awake
dreaming, thinking of Carl, the college, and, most of all, of Helen and
his walk with her the day before.
He had called on her to say good-by. They had been "going together" for
a year, and she was generally considered his girl. She was a pretty
child with really beautiful brown hair, which she had foolishly bobbed,
lively blue eyes, and an absurdly tiny snub nose. She was little, with
quick, eager hands--a shallow creature who was proud to be seen with
Hugh because he had been captain of the high-school track team. But she
did wish that he wasn't so slow. Why, he had kissed her only once, and
that had been a silly peck on the cheek. Perhaps he was just shy, but
sometimes she was almost sure that he was "plain dumb."
They had walked silently along the country road to the woods that
skirted the town. An early frost had already touched the foliage with
scarlet and orange. They sat down on a fallen log, and Hugh gazed at a
radiant maple-tree.
Helen let her hand drop lightly on his. "Thinking of me?" she asked
softly.
Hugh squeezed her hand. "Yes," he whispered, and looked at the ground
while he scuffed some fallen leaves with the toe of his shoe.
"I am going to miss you, Hughie--oh, awfully. Are you going to miss me?"
He held her hand tightly and said nothing. He was aware only of her
hand. His throat seemed to be stopped, choked with something.
A bird that should have been on its way south chirped from a tree near
by. The sound made Hugh look up. He noticed that the shadows were
lengthening. He and Helen would have to start back pretty soon or he
would be late for dinner. There was still packing to do; his mother had
said that his father wanted to have a talk with him--and through all his
thoughts there ran like a fiery red line the desire to kiss the girl
whose hand was clasped in his.
He turned slightly toward her. "Hughie," she whispered and moved close
to him. His heart stopped as he loosened her hand from his and put his
arm around her. With a contented sigh she rested her head on one
shoulder and her hand on the other. "Hughie dear," she breathed softly.
He hesitated no longer. His heart was beating so that he could not
speak, but he bent and kissed her. And there they sat for half an hour
more, close in each other's embrace, speaking no words, but losing
themselves in kisses that seemed to have no end.
Finally Hugh realized that darkness had fallen. He drew the yielding
girl to her feet and started home, his arm around her. When they reached
her gate, he embraced her once more and kissed her as if he could never
let her go. A light flashed in a window. Frightened, he tried to leave,
but she clung to him.
"I must go," he whispered desperately.
"I'm going to miss you awfully." He thought that she was weeping--and
kissed her again. Then as another window shot light into the yard, he
forced her arms from around his neck.
"Good-by, Helen. Write to me." His voice was rough and husky.
"Oh, I will. Good-by--darling."
He walked home tingling with emotion. He wanted to shout; he felt
suddenly grown up. Golly, but Helen was a little peach. He felt her arms
around his neck again, her lips pressed maddeningly to his. For an
instant he was dizzy....
* * * * *
As he lay in bed in 19 Surrey thinking of Helen, he tried to summon that
glorious intoxication again. But he failed. Carl, the college,
registration--a thousand thoughts intruded themselves. Already Helen
seemed far away, a little nebulous. He wondered why....