She regarded me doubtfully.

"It was," she retorted demurely.

"The fickleness of women is no new thing to me. I didn't expect Waters
to last long."

"Certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. One, anyway, when he
cares."

A little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder.

"Make up. You've been hateful lately. Make up with me."

It was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and the
nearness of her that made a tumult within me. I felt the blood tingle to
my face.

"Why should I make up with you?" I queried in self defense. "You are
only flirting. You won't--you can't ever be anything to me, really."

Sally bent over me and I had not the nerve to look up.

"Never mind things--really," she replied. "The future's far off. Let it
alone. We're together. I--I like you, Russ. And I've got to be--to be
loved. There. I never confessed that to any other man. You've been
hateful when we might have had such fun. The rides in the sun, in the
open with the wind in our faces. The walks at night in the moonlight.
Russ, haven't you missed something?"