ry--terribly."

"I can't see--"

"That you can't see any difference, between my being here--and Una's."

His voice fell a little.

"Of course, there's a difference. Una is a friend and you--why
Marcia--" and he came near her, "of course there's all the difference
in the world in _that_ way. You're the girl I--I love."

"Jerry!" she whispered.

I was miserable. It was nauseating. Fate was surely unkind to me.

"But I want to be just," he went on clearly. "And I want you to be
just. I surely couldn't harm Una any more than I could you."

"Oh, Jerry; I'm sure you kissed her."

"No. Why should I?"

"Because, I thought she might have asked you to."

"She didn't. I suppose it hadn't occurred to her. I'm not much at
kissing, Marcia. It's rather meaningless if you don't love a person,
isn't it? Kissing ought to be a kind of sacrament. It's a symbol. It
must mean something. At least that's the way it seems to me. The girl
one loves, Marcia, you--"

He was very close to her now and I think his arms encircled her, for I
heard her whisper "Kiss me, Jerry! Kiss me!"

I must have deserved this punishment. Aside from the unhappy nature of
my feelings, I was suffering severe bodily discomfort from some small
object, a stone, I think, pressed against my ribs. I moved slightly
and there was a resounding crackle of broken twigs. The silken foot
beside me started suddenly.

"What was that?" whispered the girl.

"Oh," said Jerry, "merely a squirrel or--or a chipmunk." And then more
convincingly, "Yes, I think it was a chipmunk."

I held my breath in an agony of apprehension, expecting each second to
be hauled out of my retreat by Jerry's muscular hand on my collar, and
it was therefore with a feeling of manifest relief that I heard their
conversation resumed.

"I'm so glad you think a kiss is a sacrament," she murmured. "It
should be--shouldn't it?--a pledge," and then, "But that was _such_ a
light one, Jerry--"

He kissed her again. There was a long silence--long. She had won.

"Oh, Jerry," she sighed at last, "it is _so_ sweet. You have never
kissed me like that before. Why, what is the matter?"

Jerry, it seemed, had risen suddenly. "I--I mustn't, Marcia. I
mustn't. It is sweet--but--but terrible. I can't tell you--"

"Terrible, Jerry?"

"Yes, I can't explain. It's a kind of profanation--your sanctity. I
don't know. It makes me deliriously happy and--horribly miserable."

"But I am yours, Jerry, yours, do yo