"Whose graves are those?" he went on, cutting across a plot and
stepping on several graves to join her.
She was gazing at her mothers simple headstone. His glance
followed hers, he read.
"Oh--beg pardon," he said confusedly. "I didn't see."
She turned her serious gaze from the headstone to his face,
which her young imagination transfigured. "You know--about her?"
she asked.
"I--I--I've heard," he confessed. "But--Susie, it doesn't amount
to anything. It happened a long time ago--and everybody's
forgotten--and----" His stammering falsehoods died away before
her steady look. "How did you find out?"
"Someone just told me," replied she. "And they said you'd never
respect or marry a girl who had no father. No--don't
deny--please! I didn't believe it--not after what we had said
to each other."
Sam, red and shifting uneasily, could not even keep his downcast
eyes upon the same spot of ground.
"You see," she went on, sweet and grave, "they don't understand
what love means--do they?"
"I guess not," muttered he, completely unnerved.
Why, how seriously the girl had taken him and his words--such a
few words and not at all definite! No, he decided, it was the
kiss. He had heard of girls so innocent that they thought a kiss
meant the same as being married. He got himself together as well
as he could and looked at her.
"But, Susie," he said, "you're too young for anything
definite--and I'm not halfway through college.
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