"
His lips were opened to tell her of her own beauty, but something
restrained him, some perception of maidenly dignity that enfolded her
and made her more than the girl who had waited on the table.
"You were a polite little boy," she recalled, filling the breach made by
his silence. "I remember that you carried me across the street, to save
my slippers from the wet. I thought you were wonderful. I have never
forgotten."
Neither had Van Alen forgotten. It had been a great feat for his little
strength. There had been other boys there, bigger boys, but he had
offered, and had been saved humiliation by her girlish slimness and
feather weight.
"I was a strong little fellow then," was his comment: "I am a strong
little fellow now."
She turned on him reproachful eyes. "Why do you always harp on it?" she
demanded.
"On what?"
"Your size. You twist everything, turn everything, so that we come back
to it."
He tried to answer lightly, but his voice shook. "Perhaps it is because
in your presence I desire more than ever the full stature of a man.
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