Until I am--" He stopped, and,
lifting her arm, kissed the bruise which his own roughness had made
there. "What can I do--to make that better?" he managed to say.
"It didn't hurt--much--before--and it's all healed--now," she said,
smiling up at him; "didn't your mother ever 'kiss the place to make it
well' when you were a little boy, and didn't it always work like a charm?
It won't show at all, either, under my glove."
"Your glove?" he asked stupidly; and then, suddenly remembering what he
had entirely forgotten--"Oh--we were going to a ball together. You came
to tell me you would, after all. But surely you won't want to now--"
"Why not? We can take the motor--we won't be so very late--the others
went in the carryall, you know."
He drew a long breath, and looked away from her. "All right," he said at
last. "Go downstairs and get your cloak, if you left it there. I'll be
with you in a minute."
She obeyed, without a word, but waited so long that she grew alarmed, and
finally, unable to endure her anxiety any longer, she went back upstairs.
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