Then with a sudden, audacious impulse, half hoping she would not be angry, half reckless if she were, he clasped her closely in his arms, and kissed her lips.

She gasped, and freed herself.
"How dared you do such a thing to me ?" she cried.
The big fellow stood before her, sheepish, dogged, contrite, desperate, all in one.
"I couldn't help it," he blurted out.

The plea was somehow absurdly simple, and yet rather unanswerable.

Angry as she was, she really couldn't think of anything to say, except-- "You'd better help it," with which rather ineffective rebuke she turned away and walked toward the picnic ground.

Henry followed in a demoralized frame.