The man's head lying heavily against her body began to stir her senses. She made certain first that he was not pressing himself against her. No, he was merely lying naturally. A tenderness grew in her heart. She murmured to herself, "Poor boy, poor boy."
This wasn't quite as it had been in the kitchen that evening. The murmur continued as her face grew flushed and she breathed unevenly. She wanted to stretch and sigh.
Keegan stirred. A fear came that he realized her sensations. He was playing possum. No. She watched his eyes open and noted their stare of filmy tenderness.
She smiled pitifully at him and said, "Rest. Just rest. I feel so sorry for you."
In fact, imposed upon the excitement which the pressure of his head against her aroused, was a feeling of Samaritan pity. However, she wondered without displacing this emotion of altruistic concern for the young man, how far she dared go. She wished that his hands would touch her but they would have to stand up for that.
Slipping to her feet she stared eagerly toward the door. Keegan straightened himself. He looked at her drowsily.
"It's no one," she smiled. Her eyes covered him with tender interest. He thought of some picture of a saint--Saint Cecelia or someone like that.
"Why don't you go up in George's room?" she asked.
She gave him her hand as if to assist him in a comradely way to rise. He stood up slowly.
"You don't know what you've done for me," he began, "you're so different ... so good."
She smiled and made a pretense of assisting him further by passing her arm gently around him.
"I don't know what it is," he murmured. He stopped. His heart was hurting him with longing. He was unclean. But this beautiful saint would cleanse him, purify him. She was a part of life he desired--the clean things. But he was afraid. How could he after last night, how could he dare? She would certainly misunderstand if he touched her. She would think he was a scoundrel.
She looked at him with intensely tender eyes as a mother might regard a forgiven child. He embraced her, his hands resting only lightly on her back.
"Forgive me," he mumbled. "But everything's so rotten. I feel like such a cad after what I've done. You ... you make me almost happy again."