It was ten o'clock. Ken would
soon have to go--the others would soon be home--and she had not even
had a chance to explain to Ken that Fred Arnold filled no blank in her
life nor ever could. Her rainbow castle lay in ruins round her.
Kenneth got up at last. He realized that Susan was there to stay as long
as he did, and it was a three mile walk to Martin West's over-harbour.
He wondered if Rilla had put Susan up to this, not wanting to be left
alone with him, lest he say something Fred Arnold's sweetheart did not
want to hear. Rilla got up, too, and walked silently the length of the
veranda with him. They stood there for a moment, Ken on the lower step.
The step was half sunk into the earth and mint grew thickly about and
over its edge. Often crushed by so many passing feet it gave out its
essence freely, and the spicy odour hung round them like a soundless,
invisible benediction. Ken looked up at Rilla, whose hair was shining in
the moonlight and whose eyes were pools of allurement. All at once he
felt sure there was nothing in that gossip about Fred Arnold.
"Rilla," he said in a sudden, intense whisper, "you are the sweetest
thing."
Rilla flushed and looked at Susan. Ken looked, too, and saw that Susan's
back was turned. He put his arm about Rilla and kissed her. It was the
first time Rilla had ever been kissed. She thought perhaps she ought to
resent it but she didn't.
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