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■ Mayne, looking down at her, asked in a lowered voice, "Now, how about my kiss?"
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Illustrations by Carl Mueller
parts to play in wretched, secondrate productions. If Coral could find a rich man who adored her. . . .
Tamara never quite justified this line of argument to herself, but she acted upon it, and when in April Mr. French suddenly bolted for Alaska on a friend's yacht, she could be very patient with Coral's angry evidences of bitter disappointment.
Mayne came up to San Francisco often. The three-hours' flight meant nothing to him. Whenever he was there Tamara was constantly in his company, and they saw much of Persis and Joe, Pete, Mabel, Lucile, Bill and Gedge. And always the friendship between Mayne and Tamara strengthened and deepened and grew more and more of a miracle of joy.
One night when he took her home from a downtown party in an old studio over the California Street market, Mayne said:
"Will you do something for me some time, Tarn?"
Was it coming? her girl's heart asked in a flutter as she looked up at him in the warm spring starlight.
"Probably," she said aloud.
"Some time — some night perhaps when I've taken you home from a party, will you kiss me?"
The earth tipped, and the stars wheeled, and Tamara stood still, looking up at him.
"Some day of course I will, Mayne," she said almost inaudibly.
"If I come upstairs might I have my kiss now?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said, her throat thick, her eyes fluttering any way except to meet his own.
"Has any man ever kissed you, Tarn?" Mayne asked, stooping a little to look into the downcast face. Her small, firm fingers were tightly holding his own; her lashes were lowered so that he saw their shadow on her clear cheek.
"Oh, no — except Lance."
NOVEMBER, 1939