away, never to see Myra again, never to kiss any one; he became conscious
of his face and hers, of their clinging hands, and he wanted to creep out
of his body and hide somewhere safe out of sight, up in the corner of his
mind.

"Kiss me again." Her voice came out of a great void.

"I don't want to," he heard himself saying. There was another pause.

"I don't want to!" he repeated passionately.

Myra sprang up, her cheeks pink with bruised vanity, the great bow on the
back of her head trembling sympathetically.

"I hate you!" she cried. "Don't you ever dare to speak to me again!"

"What?" stammered Amory.

"I'll tell mama you kissed me! I will too! I will too! I'll tell mama,
and she won't let me play with you!"

Amory rose and stared at her helplessly, as though she were a new animal
of whose presence on the earth he had not heretofore been aware.

The door opened suddenly, and Myra's mother appeared on the threshold,
fumbling with her lorgnette.

"Well," she began, adjusting it benignantly, "the man at the desk told me
you two children were up here--How do you do, Amory."