He has resolved to try his utmost at fascination. It is strong, masterly, imperious, but he seems to check himself now and then, as if he wanted her to believe he was holding in the actual man for her sake, and Marcia is immensely flattered. He has brought her a really beautiful bracelet, counting on her personal vanity, and she is quite overwhelmed.
"If it had been any ordinary designer, of course I should have paid the usual price for the work," he explains, "but I wanted you to remember the pleasure the interviews gave me."
"You rate them too highly," says Marcia, falteringly.
"Ah, I didn't say they gave you pleasure," he answers. "You have so much society, so many friends, but a poor unfortunate fellow like me gets early shelved, and crumbs are not to my taste. I am just selfish enough to want a whole piece of cake."
"Well, why should you not have it?" says Marcia, who is well versed in the audacities of coquetry.
"I am not at all sure I could get it, the kind I want."
He folds his hands behind him and they walk down to the shore. Her portfolio she has consigned to a rocky crevice: there will be no sketching she is well aware.
"I think a man—can get a great deal," she says, in a meditative sort of tone. "He can dare almost anything. Indeed, it occurs to me that it is often women who take up with the crumbs."
"And there are seasons in life when one would be glad to offer an equivalent, if one had the nice iced and ornamented cake."
"Oh, you fancy women are always on the lookout for sweets, Mr. Wilmarth," she says, parrying. "There are other things——"