When they were engaged to be married George had often
kissed her. On one evening in the spring they had gone to sit together on
the grassy bank beside the creek in the shadow of the pickle factory, then
deserted and silent, and had come near to going beyond kissing. Why nothing
else had happened Rose did not exactly know. She had protested, but her
protest had been feeble and had not expressed what she felt. George Pike
had desisted in his effort to press love upon her because they were to be
married, and he did not think it right to do what he thought of as taking
advantage of a girl.
At any rate he did desist and long afterward, as she lay in the farmhouse
consciously thinking of her mother's bachelor boarder, her thoughts became
less and less distinct and when she had slipped off into sleep, George Pike
came back to her. She stirred uneasily in bed and muttered words. Rough but
gentle hands touched her cheeks and played in her hair. As the night wore
on and the position of the moon shifted, the streak of moonlight lighted
her face. One of her hands reached up and seemed to be caressing the
moonbeams. The weariness had all gone out of her face. "Yes, George, I love
you, I belong to you," she whispered.
Had Hugh been able to creep like the moonbeam into the presence of the
sleeping school teacher, he must inevitably have loved her. Also he would
perhaps have understood that it is best to approach human beings directly
and boldly as he had approached the mechanical problems by which his days
were filled.
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