the twilight might be heard above the cries of the boys and girls. She
had known how loath the little feet had been to leave their play, and
how they had lagged up the porch stairs, and into the house. Years,
whose memory she had tried to keep behind her, now suddenly loomed
before her in the dim quiet of the little flower-scented park.

A voice broke the silence, and sent her dream-thoughts scattering to
the winds.

"Honestly, kid," said the voice, "I could be crazy about you, if you'd
let me."

The forgotten figure beside her woke into sudden life. A strong arm
encircled her shoulders. A strong hand seized her own, which were
clasped behind her head. Two warm, eager lips were pressed upon her
lips, checking the little cry of surprise and wrath that rose in her
throat.

Emma McChesney wrenched herself free with a violent jerk, and pushed
him from her. She did not storm. She did not even rise. She sat very
quietly, breathing fast. When she turned at last to look at the boy
beside her it seemed that her white profile cut the darkness. The man
shrank a little, and would have stammered something, but Emma
McChesney checked him.

[Illustration: "'That was a married kiss--a two-year-old married kiss
at least.'"]

"You nasty, good-for-nothing, handsome young devil, you!" she said.
"So you're married."