"By letting me look at you."
With quaint and artless coquetry she picked up the folds of her heavy brocaded paniers, right and left, with two delicate fingers, and executed a dainty pirouette in front of him.
"There!" she said merrily, "'tis done. . . . And now?"
"By letting me whisper to you . . ." he murmured.
She drew back quickly, and said with mock severity—
"That which I must not hear."
"Why not?"
"Because Your Grace is not free," she rejoined archly. "Not free to whisper anything in any woman's ear, save in that of Lady Ursula Glynde."
"Then you guessed what I would have whispered to you?"
"Perhaps."