"Don't be
so cross about it! So--" He put her arm in his again. "I like to have
you to myself, Julia," he said, his boyish, handsome face suddenly
flushing, his voice very low. "Do you know why?"
"No," said Julia after a pause, the word strangling her.
"You don't, eh?" Mark said, with a smiling side glance.
"Nope," said Julia, dimpling as she returned the look, and shutting her
pretty lips firmly over the little word.
"Do you know you are ador-r-rable?" Mark said, in a sort of eager rush.
"Will you go to Maskey's with me, instead of joining the others at
Haas's?" he asked, more quietly.
"Well," Julia said. She was her own mistress. Her mother had gone home
during the play with Mrs. Toomey, who complained of a headache. So,
grinning like conspirators, they stayed on the south side of the street
until it joined Market, and then went by the fountain and the big
newspaper buildings, and slipped into the confectioner's. Julia sent an
approving side glance at herself in the mirror, as she drew a satisfied
breath of the essence-laden air. She loved lights, perfumes, voices--and
all were here.
An indifferent young woman wiped their table with a damp rag, as she
took their order, both, with the daring of their years, deciding upon
the murderous combination of banana ice-cream and soda with chopped nuts
and fruit.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101