“need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. All your beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid of you to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.” The conversation was not going the way she wanted it. It never did when she was with him. Always, it was a duel in which she was worsted. “And I suppose you think you are the proper person?” she asked with sarcasm, holding her temper in check with difficulty. “Oh, yes, if I cared to take the trouble,” he said carelessly. “They say I kiss very well.” “Oh,” she began, indignant at the slight to her charms. “Why, you…” But her eyes fell in sudden confusion. He was smiling, but in the dark depths of his eyes a tiny light flickered for a brief moment, like a small raw flame. “Of course, you’ve probably wondered why I never tried to follow up that chaste peck I gave you,”