He watched her color rise. It was like the elfin tiptoeing of her spirit behind the white transparent walls of her flesh. It climbed the smooth ascent of her breast, passed up the columned tower of her throat and stared out at him excitedly in the brightness of her eyes.
"Men don't ask things like that," she said reproachfully, "at least, only when they're flirting. I sometimes think—— Don't treat me like all the others who were before me."
"What others?"
She held his gaze. "The emotional women and
silly girls—— You must have been loved very often, Lord Taborley."
To have defended himself against her tender jealousy would have been futile. She was plainly anxious to believe her accusation. Perhaps it flattered her a little. Perhaps it lent him an added touch of glamor. He was wondering how he should satisfy her. He could remember no hearts that his fascination had broken. He could rake up absolutely—— She was speaking again.
"And yet I'm glad you compelled me to tell you that I wanted you. You're making me do things that I never did before in my life. I'm supposed to be a cold woman. You'll find people who'll say that I'm remote and domineering. I've only one big affection—my little boy. For your sake I'm leaving him alone to-night."
"For mine?"
"For whose else?"
"I thought for Terry's."