Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/60

WAR to find something nice enough for Evelyn. He found it, all right, after a while, and begun to sing. It was:

Well, it was like praying. And he was looking up in Evelyn's face with an expression in his own that I had never seen there yet. But Evelyn didn't seem to notice—just kept looking up at the moon, in the Mond-licht, and went on reflecting. Me? I was getting hot at her myself—a not listening when old Jonthy sang to her like that! I'd have broke out in a minute more—if Jon hadn't begun to inch along the bench till he got near her—then almost against her. Then he looked in her face, playing softer and softer. I could hardly stand it. But she never noticed. Then Jon took her hand—kissed it—smiled up at her like an angel. Jon, he must have learned that out of books—it was so fine and manly. I know 44