All men were not brutes after all, was her thought.
"Good night," she murmured; the gate screeched under her hand; and she hurried along the narrow walk that led around to the corner of the house.
"Wednesday," he celled softly.
"Wednesday," she answered.
But in the shadow of the narrow alley between the two houses she stood still and pleasured in the ring of his foot falls down the cement sidewalk.

Not until they had quite died away did she go on.

She crept up the back stairs and across the kitchen to her room, registering her thanksgiving that Sarah was asleep.
She lighted the gas, and, as she removed the little velvet hat, she felt her lips still tingling with the kiss.

Yet it had meant nothing.

It was the way of the young men.