He sat watching her as she pinned the lilies against her breast How pretty her hair was, with its reddish tinge like specks of gold shining through its blackness! And her ears—they were like pale petals enmeshed within her tresses.
He couldn’t blame her if other men had loved her first; but he wished they hadn’t. The knowledge had come as a shock.
“Been inspecting me for quite some time! Do I meet with monsieur’s approval?” She leant her head at a perky angle and glanced up at him.
“Approval! My mind was made up before I started. I didn’t come to America to——”
“No, I know.” She cut him short. “Mother told me: you’re a gree-at success. You came on business.—Please don’t interrupt; I’ve something most important to tell you. I do want you to approve of me to-day— to-day most especially. That’s why I didn’t get up till eleven.” She saw the smile creeping round the edges of his mouth. “I didn’t mean that the way you thought. You’re looking sarcastic and—and I hate sarcastic persons. I stayed in bed to get rested that I might look my prettiest, because——- Presently I’ll tell you. I’ve done something terrible; No, I won’t tell you now—later. But promise you’ll forgive me.”
“Forgive you!” His voice trembled. Had he dared, he would have slipped his arm about her; but she had huddled herself closer into her corner. “I’ll forgive you anything, if you’ll do one thing to please me.”
He waited for her to ask him what it was; but her strategic faculty for silence again asserted itself. She sat, not looking at him, with her eyes shaded.
It was a childish longing that prompted him to make his request. “I want to see your hands,” he whispered. “They’re so beautiful. It’s a shame to keep them covered. On my word of honor,” he sank his voice, “I won’t—won’t take advantage.”
She considered poutingly whether she would grant the favor.
“The first I’ve ever asked,” he urged.