Free The Second Shot by Anthony Berkeley Page B

my surprise she leaned towards me again and rested her head on my shoulder. It was the action of a child, I knew, so that I had no excuse at all for the unwarrantable action of my own which followed. I, who had only a few minutes ago repudiated with indignation the suggestion that I could ever take advantage of a woman’s distress – I, who had never done such a thing in my life before – well, something quite extraordinary seemed to go ‘Click!’ in my interior, and in the confusion of the moment I kissed Armorel.
    She sat up abruptly, a faint flush on her cheeks, and looked at me. There was no need of upbraiding, for no one could have been more ashamed than I the next moment. Only too well I knew that I had betrayed the poor girl’s trust.
    She was generous. She did not speak angrily. ‘Pinkie,’ she said slowly (and even in my shame I was able to notice that her tears at least had stopped flowing), ‘do you often do that sort of thing?’
    ‘No, Armorel,’ I assured her with all the earnestness at my command. ‘Indeed not. I assure you, I can’t understand it at all… I was carried away, in some inexplicable manner. I apologize most sincerely.’
    ‘Am I the first girl you’ve ever kissed?’
    ‘I fear so,’ I said, in futile endeavour to minimize my offence. ‘Yes, I’m quite sure of it. Yes, certainly you are. I don’t understand it at all. Really, I – ’
    ‘Well, next time, when a fool of a girl’s howling on your shoulder, she doesn’t
want
to be kissed on the forehead, remember.’
    ‘No,’ I stammered in confusion. This grave censure by a young woman so many years my junior, whom hitherto I had been unable to regard even with equanimity, let alone approval, was disconcerting in the extreme; and yet I could not say that I did not deserve it. ‘No, precisely. It was the action of a cad. If you could bring yourself to trust me again… That is – ’
    I stopped in astonishment. Armorel was leaning towards me, and I saw now that, though her eyes were still full of tears, she was actually smiling. ‘No, Pinkie,’ she said softly, ‘she doesn’t want to be kissed on the forehead a bit. She wants to be kissed on the lips.’
    As to what happened after that, I really cannot bring myself to put it on paper.
    It was only a few minutes before twelve when we rose to leave the wood. And I had better admit at once that I did so with no little reluctance. I intend to set down in this narrative the precise truth, however ill it may reflect on myself.
    And yet the reader cannot condemn me more severely than I condemned myself on our rather silent walk back to the house. Although my mind was still in considerable confusion, I did my best to apply my old methods of self-analysis, in an effort to realize how it had happened that I, of all people, should have come to such a pass. For even as early as that the most astonishing feature of the whole affair was plain to me: that I had so very much
enjoyed
kissing Armorel. It had really been a quite entrancing sensation. Incredible!
    For I must explain that I had been accustomed, in my ignorance, to regard the act of osculation as an unnecessary and degrading one, practically on a par with the savage habit of rubbing noses, certainly no more dignified or satisfactory. I perceived now that I had been exceedingly mistaken.
    But did it mean that because I had enjoyed kissing Armorel, I was in love with her? Can one enjoy kissing a woman whom one does not love? It seemed highly improbable. And yet, if I was not in love with Elsa, I could not possibly be in love with Armorel, for I certainly wished to marry her no more than the other. Then why had I enjoyed kissing her? Why did I wish to kiss her again? It was all very disturbing and confusing. I wished that I knew more about these things.
    Fortunately the others scarcely noticed our entrance, though I felt as if my guilt must be written in capital letters on my face. They were engaged in an altercation. Eric, it