n his.
"You poor thing!" concluded Dave with a swift glance to the ridge where
the children had not yet appeared.
Then amazingly he enfolded the figure of the woman in his arms and upon
her cold, appalled lips he imprinted a swift but accurate kiss.
"There, poor thing!" he murmured.
He lavished one look upon the still frozen Juliana, replaced the cap
upon his yellow hair, once more preened his moustache at her, and turned
away to meet the oncoming children. And in his glance Juliana retained
still the wit to read a gay, cherishing pity. As he turned away she sank
limply against the fence, her first sensation being all of wonder that
she had not cried out at this monstrous assault. And very clearly she
knew at once that she had not cried out or made any protest because,
though monstrous, it was even more absurd. A seasoned sense of humour
had not failed.
The guilty man swaggered on to meet the children, not looking back. For
him the incident was closed. Juliana, a hand supporting her capable
chin, steadily regarded his swaying shoulders and the yellow hair
beneath his cap. In her nostrils was the scent of printer's ink and pipe
tobacco. She reflectively rubbed her chin, for it had been stung with a
day-old beard that pricked like a nettle. Now she was recalling another
woodland adventure of a dozen years before here in this same forest.
Dave Cowan had been wrong when he said that no one had kissed her since
her mother died. Once on a winter's day, when she was sixteen, she had
crossed here, bundled in a red cloak and hood, and a woodchopper, a
merry, laughing foreigner who spoke no English, had hailed her gayly,
and she had stopped and gayly tried to understand him, and knew only
that he was telling her she was beautiful. She at least had thought it
was that, and was certain of it when he had seized and kissed her,
laughing joyously the while. She had not told any one of that, but she
had never forgotten. And now this curious creature, whom she had not
supposed to be gallantly inclined--unshaven, smelling of printer's ink
and tobacco!
"I'm coming on!" said Juliana aloud, and laughed rather grimly.
She watched her prankling blade meet the children and go off down the
ridge with his son, still not looking back. She thought it queer he did
not look back at her just once. She soothed her chin again, sniffing the
air.
Patricia Whipple came leaping up the path, excited with an imminent
question. She halted
|