“What of it?” she asked, gradually flushing. She remembered her own enthusiasm over the picture.
“Wouldn’t it be fine?” he exclaimed, looking at her with glowing eyes, his teeth showing white in a smile that was not amusement.
“What?” she asked, dropping her head in confusion.
“That—a girl like that—half afraid—and passion!” He lit up curiously.
“She may well be half afraid, when the barbarian comes out in his glory, skins and all.”
“But don’t you like it?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Make love to the next girl you meet, and by the time the poppies redden the field, she’ll hang in your arms. She’ll have need to be more than half afraid, won’t she?”
She played with the leaves of the book, and did not look at him.
“But,” he faltered, his eyes glowing, “it would be—rather——”
“Don’t, sweet lad, don’t!” she cried laughing.