She sprang out of bed and peeped from her window, and there was a dark, slight figure out in the yard, and he was looking up at her window, whistling.

Shame, and mirth, and also exultation, which overpowered them both, stirred within the child's breast.

She had read of things like this.

Here was her boy lover coming out this bitter night just for the sake of looking up at her window.

She adored him for it.
Then she heard a window raised with a violent rasp across the yard, and saw her grandmother's night-capped head thrust forth.