Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/162

wonder at the young man who had impressed her as a loutish weakling. His world had collided with hers, the world of her father's with her own sterile universe, and for a moment she felt uncertain of the ground beneath her feet. She was driven to a self defensive maneuvre, like a soldier who had been chasing his enemy and found himself chased in return. He spoke so firmly and with what seemed to her such a touch of impudence, that she felt compelled to answer in kind.

"You're quite a hard-headed young man, aren't you?" she said, and measured him from top to toe.

"I've already told you, Mademoiselle, that no one, not even the Queen of Sheba herself, could tempt me from the straight and narrow path."

"Please tell me why you thought of considering me as a possible wife?" Rose's voice trembled with excitement.

The question seemed to confuse the young man. "Your father-" he began, "your father-that is-he told me-I mean to say-"

"Who cares what he said!" Rose interrupted his stammering. "A fellow of your age ought to know for himself that a father might be one thing and a daughter something entirely different. Allon-s-y!" She grabbed his elbow and started walking. But after only a few steps she suddenly halted, leaned her statuesque body against a lamp post, and burst into a peal of nervous laughter. Her cheeks flamed, and the redness spread down her throat and deep into her open blouse, where her round breasts strained against the gar- ments that confined them. When her mild hysteria was over, she turned her eyes downward and began to dig the pointed toe of her shoe into the dirt of the path.

It was clear that she was waiting for him to come closer, but the man didn't move. They both stood, holding their