"I remembered to bring two glasses, this time," said Paul Dampier.
Gwenna smiled as she nodded. Her eyes were on those silver white-finned minnows of her feet, that he had called pretty.
He followed her glance as he took another sandwich. "Rather a good idea, wings to your shoes because you're supposed to be a cherub."
"Oh, but that's not what the wings were supposed to be for," she said quickly. "I only put those in at the waltz-cotillon so that——"
Here she stopped dead, wishing that the carpeted grass might open at those winged feet of hers and swallow her up!
How could she have given herself away like this? Let him know how she had wanted him to choose her! when he hadn't even known she was there; hadn't been thinking about her!
She flurried on: "S-so that they should look more like fancy-dress shoes instead of real ones!"
He turned his head, dark and clean-cut against the lambent swaying lantern. He said, out of the gloom that spared her whelming blush, "Oh, was that it! I thought," he added with a teasing note in his voice, "I thought you were going to say it was to remind me that I'd promised to take you flying, and that it's never come off yet!"
Gwenna, hesitating for a moment, sat back against the cushions of the wicker-chair. She looked away from him, and then ventured a retort—a tiny reproach.
"Well—it hasn't come off."