MORNING SERIAL

SHE drew herself away. “Oh, Ieuan …. Please …. We mustn’t.” She began to weep. He stood there, awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say. The tumult was over. He was troubled with a deep sense of guilt. What would she think of him? He had said he was decent — that he never ran after girls. But now this had happened, and he had done nothing to prevent it. He had wanted it to happen.

And yet he could not have resisted. She had awakened a part of him that had never been alive.

He had wanted to be in one with her. To cling to her. Never, never to let her go.

And now retribution. He wanted to take her in his arms. To kiss her again, tenderly. To tell her he was sorry.

“Sally!” She looked at him through her tears.

“I—I’m sorry, Ieuan,” she sobbed, choking with emotion. “I didn’t know what I was doing. This — this has never happened to me before.” “It’s — it’s all right, Sally,” he whispered. He took her arm. “I’m the one that is to blame, and I’m sorry — terribly sorry.” He led her away from the gate. They walked down the hill in silence. “Please don’t think I’m a rotter,” he pleaded, tormented by his thoughts. His voice was low and restrained. “But I do … love you, Sally.” She dried her tears. “I like you, too, Ieuan … only I wish — I wish that hadn’t happened. We shouldn’t behave like — like married people. It’s wrong, Ieuan — wrong.” “But, Sally, nothing’s happened. Nothing that we should be ashamed of. We were — well, I was carried away. I promise you it’ll never happen again — never.” He gripped her arm tightly.

“Sally, there will be another time? I mean — you’ll promise to see me again?” The anxiety in his tone was apparent to her. She clasped his hand.

“Ieuan ….” “Yes, Sally?” he asked, breathless.

“I—I’m very fond of you,” she said softly.

A sinking feeling came over him.

“Fond of me! Is — is that all?” She lowered her eyes. He sensed her confusion. “Well, I …” she began. “Yes, Sally, go on. Say it!” “I—I love you, Ieuan.” “Oh, Sally.” He kissed her fondly.