It was a magnificent pale blue, ermine-padded garment, with a dragon of heavy gold embroidery extending from nape to hem down the loose back.
Blythe studied it for a moment and then glanced significantly at the faint-blue walls and ceiling of the room.
"I presume," he said, solemnly, "you had your rooms done this last time to match the Mother Hub—I mean the mandarin's coat?"
They did not need thus to spar, for they were (what, unhappily, is so unusual between men and women in a world devoid of mid-paths) close friends; even comrades, in so far as Blythe's hard work permitted him to assume his share of such a relationship; and they understood each other thoroughly, with no complication differing from a genuine mutual esteem to mar their understanding. Nevertheless, both of them found it a trifle difficult to undertake the lead on the subject that was uppermost in their minds and the occasion of Blythe's forenoon visit.
Laura with her customary helpfulness, finally gave him an opening.
"She told us of having met you on the train," said Laura, as if in continuation of a conversation already begun on the theme. "An odd chance, wasn't it? I wonder if you were so enormously struck with her as I was?"
"You met her at the station, did you not?" said Blythe, quietly. "That was like you; like your all-around fineness."
"Thanks," said Laura, appreciatively. "But you evade my question. Isn't she a perfect apparition of loveliness?"
"I wish she were less so," said Blythe, not convincingly.
"No, you don't wish that," said Laura. "I know what you wish; but it is not that."