She linked her arm in his as they walked into the big room, snuggling
her head against his shoulder so that, leaning over, his lips were
buried in one of the soft, shining coils of her hair. And she was
making plans, enumerating them on the tips of her fingers. If he had
business outside, she was going with him. Wherever he went she was
going. There was no doubt in her mind about that. She called his
attention to a trunk that had arrived while he slept, and assured him
she would be ready for outdoors by the time he had opened his chest.
She had a little blue suit she was going to wear. And her hair? Did it
look good enough for his friends to see? She had put it up in a hurry.
"It is beautiful, glorious," he said.
Her face pinked under the ardency of his gaze. She put a finger to the
tip of his nose, laughing at him. "Why, Derry, if you weren't my
brother I'd think you were my lover! You said that as though you meant
it TERRIBLY much. Do you?"
He felt a sudden dull stab of pain, "Yes, I mean it. It's glorious. And
so are you, Mary Josephine, every bit of you."
On tiptoe she gave him the warm sweetness of her lips again. And then
she ran away from him, joy and laughter in her face, and disappeared
into her room.
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