Page:Harvey O'Higgins--Don-a-dreams.djvu/101

 of her ear, a little curled shell of an ear that appealed to everything masculine in him as the sight of an infant's wrinkled fingers will appeal to all the maternal in a woman. He heard himself reply: "Well, it's Sunday. And it can't be more than eight o'clock yet."

She felt his look on her, and could not turn to meet it. "Wouldn't she scold if she knew—mother? She had a cough. I left her in bed."

He blinked the existence of her mother—of everyone but the two of them alone and together. "Have you had your breakfast?"

"No.... Have you ?"

"No." He added daringly, in a voice that belied the attempted bravado of his smile: "I couldn't wait. I wanted to see you."

She tried to laugh at him again. "You funny boy!"

"I knew I'd meet you."

"How?"

"I don't know. Are you going to church?"

The hungry directness of the appeal confused her. "I suppose so. Yes. After breakfast."

"Where? What one?"

"Whichever's the nearest."

"St. Stephen's?"

She tried to fence with him, to get time to think. "Is that the nearest ?"

"Yes." He waited.

She looked around her vaguely. "Where is it?"

"I'll show you. After breakfast.... May I?"