“Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. I’m taking no chances. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored.
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