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Aftermath

Creator: Allen, James Lane, 1849-1925
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forborne returning to the arbor had I not felt assured that she must have escaped to the house through modesty and sheer shame. But she had not budged. "I blush for you, Sylvia!" I exclaimed. "I know all about that fellow! He shouldn't kiss--my old cat!" "I don't see what _you_ have to do with it!" said Sylvia, placidly. "And I have waited to tell you that I hope you will never interrupt me again when I am engaged in entertaining a young gentleman." "Sylvia, my dear child!" I said, gravely, sitting down beside her. "How old are you?" "I am of the proper age to manage my own affairs," said Sylvia, "with the assistance of my immediate family." "Well, I don't think you are," I replied. "And since your brother is at West Point, there is one thing that I am going to take the liberty of telling you, which the other members of your family may not fully understand. If you were younger, Sylvia, you might do a good deal of this and not be hurt by it; or you might not be hurt by it if you were a good deal older; but at your age it is terrible; in time it will affect your character."
The Feast of St. Friend

THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND A Christmas Book by ARNOLD BENNETT Author of _The Old Wives' Tale_, _Buried Alive_, etc., etc. New York George H. Doran Company 1911
"How old must I be?" said Sylvia, wickedly. "Well, in your case," I replied, warmly, a little nettled by her tone, "you'd better abstain altogether." "And in your case?" said Sylvia. "You never mind my case!" I retorted. "But I do mind it when I suffer by it," said Sylvia. "I do mind it if it's going to affect my character!" "You know very well, Sylvia," I replied, "that I never kissed you but three times, and then as a brother." "I do not wish any one but my brother to kiss me in that way," said Sylvia, with a pout of contempt. It seemed to me that this was a fitting time to guide Sylvia's powers of discrimination as to the way she should act with indifferent men--and as to the way that different men would try to act with her. I had been talking to her in a low tone I do not know how long. Her ill-nature had quickly vanished; she was, in her way, provoking, charming. I was sitting close to her. The moonlight played upon her daring, wilful face through the leaves of the grape-vines. It was