He only knew that it was distinguished by a sort of subdued sheen; that it rustled with an entrancing swish and suggestion of femininity as she moved, and that it was adjusted to her shapely figure as though her delightful personality had been moulded into it.
A slim wonder of a white hand was extended to him, a bright smile illumed her bewildering eyes and bent the Cupid bow of her lips into a curve which sent an intangible arrow into the young man’s heart as she said with musical simplicity:
“I am glad to see you.”
To this Dennis made no direct reply.
His eyes gleamed their idealized eloquence, however; his attitude presented unmistakable shades of deference, and to save himself further revelation he collapsed into the chair indicated by his hostess.
Apparently the widow extracted the same enjoyment from these ingenuous acknowledgments as ever, for she did not immediately resume the conversation.
Fortunately, Dennis assembled himself, so to speak, and realized his psychological moment.
“Shure,” he said as he became aware of his involuntary self-revelations, “’shure, an’ you would know that I am glad to see you if I was deaf and dumb.”
The widow laughed heartily at this, as she replied:
“I’m afraid that you have kissed the blarney stone, Mr. Muldoon.”