It was the first time for Robin. Andrews did not kiss. There was
no one else. It was the first time, and Nature had also made her
a loving, warm blooded, human thing. How beautiful he was--how
big--how strong his arms were--and how soft and warm his mouth
felt. She stood and gazed at him with wide asking eyes and laughed a
little. She had no words because she did not know what had happened.
"Don't you like to be kissed?" said Donal, uncertain because she
looked so startled and had not kissed him back.
"Kissed," she repeated, with a small, caught breath, "ye-es." She
knew now what it was. It was being kissed. She drew nearer at once
and lifted up her face as sweetly and gladly, as a flower lifts
itself to the sun. "Kiss me again," she said quite eagerly. As
ingenuously and heartily as before, he kissed her again and, this
time, she kissed too. When he ran quickly away, she stood looking
after him with smiling, trembling lips, uplifted, joyful--wondering
and amazed.
CHAPTER VIII
When she went back to Andrews she carried the pricked leaves with
her. She could not have left them behind. From what source she
had drawn a characterizing passionate, though silent, strength of
mind and body, it would be difficult to explain. Her mind and her
emotions had been left utterly unfed, but they were not of the inert
order which scarcely needs feeding.
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