"Go on," Bashford commanded desperately.

"That's all," she answered.

"All?" There was a vast incredulity in his voice.

"All?" In her voice was an interrogation no less vast.

"I mean--er--nothing worse?" He was overwhelmingly aware of his own
awkwardness.

"Worse?" She was frankly puzzled. "As though there could be! Billy said-
-"

"When did he say it?" Bashford demanded abruptly.

"In his letter I got this morning. Billy said that my . . . our . . . our
kisses were terrible if we didn't get married."

Bashford's head was swimming.

"What else did Billy say?" he asked.

"He said that when a woman allowed a man to kiss her, she always married
him--that it was terrible if she didn't. It was the custom, he said; and I
say it is a bad, wicked custom, and I don't like it. I know I'm terrible,"
she added defiantly, "but I can't help it."

Bashford absent-mindedly brought out a cigarette.