"If she made one with me," said Sir Christopher, "I don't think I should be able to keep it to myself either. I should be carried away by pride, as no doubt Mr. Lisle is."
"Would you kiss and tell, Sir Christopher?" smiled Bernadette.
"Poets do—and such a kiss might make even me a poet."
"Evidently you'd better not risk it, Bernadette," laughed Arthur.
"Well, it hasn't been the usual effect of my kisses," Bernadette observed demurely.
The mischievous reference to her husband seemed obvious. It forced a smile from all of them; Esther added a reproving shake of her head.
"Perhaps it's as well, because I don't think I should like poets, not about the house, you know."
"Now tell us your ideal man, Bernadette," said the Judge.
"Oh, I'll tell each of you that in private!"
To Esther Norton Ward, who knew her well, there seemed something changed in her. She was as serene, as gay, as gracious as ever. But her manner had lost something of the absolute naturalness which had possessed so great a charm. She seemed more conscious that she exercised attraction, and more consciously to take pleasure—perhaps even a little pride—in doing it. She had never been a flirt, but now her speeches and glances were not so free from what makes flirtation, not so careless of the effect they might produce or the response which might be evoked by them. To some degree the airs of a beauty had infected her simplicity; graceful and dainty as they were, to her old friend's thinking they marred the rarer charm. She was not so childlike, not so free from guile. But Esther did not suppose that the men would notice any change; if they did, they would probably like it. For being neither willing nor able to flirt herself, she was convinced that men liked flirts. Flirts both flattered their pride and saved them trouble. Perhaps there was some truth in her theory.