"There now!" said Tishy, pushing the boots under the sofa, "aren't you
obliged to me? I often did that for the Doctor, but I never saw such
lovely green silk socks on _him_, I can tell you!"
The champagne had made her eyes very bright; there was a look in them
that spoke to a dim memory in Larry's cloudy mind. She was still
kneeling beside him, and as she prepared to rise, she rested one hand
on his knee to help herself. Larry put his hand on hers, and leaned
forward. Her brilliant, challenging face was very near his. His memory
cleared in a flash, and he thought of the night, long ago, when they
had played at forfeits.
"'My shoe buckle or my lips'? Do you remember?" he said, with an
unsteady laugh, answering the challenge. "It's my turn now--which will
you have?"
He did not wait for an answer, but looking straight into her eyes, he
bent down and kissed her laughing, red lips.
The situation had not materially changed when Dr. Mangan's large
presence was suddenly developed at the end of the sofa. He had come
noiselessly in, and was surveying his daughter and guest with a
benedictory smile.
"So that's the way, is it?" he said quietly.
The hot dream that held Larry, melted and reeled a little. He released
Tishy from his enfolding arms, and wondered if he had better risk
standing up. He wished old Mangan hadn't come bothering in.
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