And again he was wondering what she would think of him and his attitude toward Hortense in contrast to his attitude toward her now, if she knew.
“You know,” he said at the very first opportunity, “I’ve been trying to talk to you ever since you came to work at the factory but you see how very watchful every one is.
They’re the limit.
They told me when I came up there that I mustn’t interest myself in any girl working there and so I tried not to.
But I just couldn’t help this, could I?”
He squeezed her arm affectionately, then stopped suddenly and, disengaging his arm from hers, put both his about her.
“You know, Roberta, I’m crazy about you.
I really am.
I think you’re the dearest, sweetest thing.
Oh, say! Do you mind my telling you?
Ever since you showed up there, I haven’t been able to sleep, nearly.
You’ve got such nice eyes and hair.
To- night you look just too cute — lovely, I think.
Oh, Roberta,” suddenly he caught her face between his two hands and kissed her, before really she could evade him.
Then having done this he held her while she resisted him, although it was almost impossible for her to do so. Instead she felt as though she wanted to put her arms around him or have him hold her tight, and this mood in regard to him and herself puzzled and troubled her.
It was awful.
What would people think — say — if they knew?
She was a bad girl, really, and yet she wanted to be this way — near him — now as never before.
“Oh, you mustn’t, Mr. Griffiths,” she pleaded.
“You really mustn’t, you know.
Please.
Some one might see us.
I think I hear some one coming. Please, now.”
She looked about quite frightened, apparently, while Clyde laughed ecstatically.
Life had presented him a delicious sweet at last.
“You know I never did anything like this before,” she went on.
“Honest, I didn’t.
Please.
It’s only because you said —”
Clyde was pressing her close, not saying anything in reply — his pale face and dark hungry eyes held very close to hers.
He kissed her again and again despite her protests, her little mouth and chin and cheeks seeming too beautiful — too irresistible — then murmured pleadingly, for he was too overcome to speak vigorously.
“Oh, Roberta, dearest, please, please, say that you love me.
Please do!
I know that you do, Roberta.
I can tell.
Please, tell me now.
I’m crazy about you.
We have so little time.”
He kissed her again upon the cheek and mouth, and suddenly he felt her relax.
She stood quite still and unresisting in his arms. He felt a wonder of something — he could not tell what.
All of a sudden he felt tears upon her face, her head sunk to his shoulder, and then he heard her say:
“Yes, yes, yes. I do love you. Yes, yes. I do. I do.”
There was a sob — half of misery, half of delight — in her voice and Clyde caught that. He was so touched by her honesty and simplicity that tears sprang to his own eyes.
“It’s all right, Roberta. It’s all right.
Please don’t cry.
Oh, I think you’re so sweet.
I do. I do, Roberta.”
He looked up and before him in the east over the low roofs of the city was the thinnest, yellowest topmost arc of the rising July moon.
It seemed at the moment as though life had given him all — all — that he could possibly ask of it. ? Chapter 18
T he culmination of this meeting was but the prelude, as both Clyde and Roberta realized, to a series of contacts and rejoicings which were to extend over an indefinite period.