On the day after the Ball Game Tom took me for a walk, and in
a corner of the park, he took my hand and held it for quite a while.
He said he had never been a hand-holder, but he guessed it was time to
begin. Also he remarked that my noze need not worry me, as it exactly
suited my face and nature.
"How does it suit my nature?" I asked.
"It's--well, it's cute."
"I do not care about being cute, Tom," I said ernestly. "It is a word I
despize."
"Cute means kissible, Bab!" he said, in an ardent manner.
"I don't beleive in kissing."
"Well," he observed, "there is kissing and kissing."
But a nurse with a baby in a perambulater came along just then and
nothing happened worth recording. As soon as she had passed, however,
I mentioned that kissing was all right if one was engaged, but not
otherwise. And he said:
"But we are, aren't we?"
Although understood before, it had now come in full force. I, who had
been but Barbara Archibald before, was now engaged. Could it be I who
heard my voice saying, in a low tone, the "yes" of Destiny? It was!
We then went to the corner drug-store and had some soda, although
forbiden by my Familey because of city water being used. How strange
to me to recall that I had once thought the Clerk nice-looking, and had
even purchaced things there, such as soap and chocolate, in order to
speak a few words to him!
I was engaged, dear Reader, but not yet kissed. Tom came into our
vestabule with me, and would doubtless have done so when no one was
passing, but that George opened the door suddenly.
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