CHAPTER V

THE MADNESS OF MUCH KISSING


"That was a very noble thing of you," Miss Grace Sheraton was saying to
me, as we passed slowly among the big trees of the Sheraton apple
orchard. Her eyes were rather soft and a slight color lay upon her
cheeks, whose ivory hue was rarely heightened in this way.

"I am in ignorance, Miss Grace," I said to her.

"Fie! You know very well what I mean--about yesterday."

"Oh, that," said I, and went rather red of the face, for I thought she
meant my salutation at the gate.

She, redder now than myself, needed no explanation as to what I meant.
"No, not that," she began hastily, "that was not noble, but vile of you!
I mean at the tavern, where you took my part--"

So then I saw that word in some way had come to her of the little brawl
between Harry Singleton and myself. Then indeed my face grew scarlet.
"It was nothing," said I, "simply nothing at all." But to this she would
not listen.

"To protect an absent woman is always manly," she said. (It was the
women of the South who set us all foolish about chivalry.) "I thank you