They looked at each other for a moment in
silence. Both were furiously angry, resenting the compulsion that had
forced them into an absurd position.
Then Tishy said insolently: "Well! Which will you have? My shoe-buckle
or my lips? Take your choice!"
She poked her foot out over the edge of the step confidently.
A spark shot from Larry's angry heart to his blue eyes. He looked up
at Tishy, and something suddenly masterful awoke in him. Confound her!
He wouldn't have her laughing at him!
"I'll have your lips, please!" he said, mounting to the step beside
her.
With schoolboy roughness he flung his arm round her shoulders. She was
a little taller than he, but she did not withdraw herself; she was
curiously aware that her point of view was changing. She looked for an
instant in his eyes, and then she laid her lips on his.
Larry found, with surprise, that they returned the pressure of his own
as he kissed her. The spark that had been in his eyes seemed to have
flown to his lips, and met another spark in hers.
There was a moment of silence. Larry found himself a little out of
breath, and somehow bewildered. There was more in it than he thought.
He didn't quite know what to do next.
"Thank you very much," he said, stiffly, and offered his arm.
In silence they walked down the stairs again. The piano had begun, and
"Sir Roger de Coverley" was being thundered forth.
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