“You see, my dear friends,” she declared, “you have to come to England, after all, to find a man who knows his own mind and speaks it without fear. The pearls it shall be.”
“It may be decision,” Crease drawled, speaking with a slight American accent, “or it may be gallantry. Mr. Tavernake knew your own choice.”
“The last word, as usual,” she sighed. “Now, if you good people will kindly go on downstairs, I will join you in a few minutes. Mr. Tavernake is my man of business and I am sure he has something to say to me.”
She dismissed them all pleasantly. As soon as the door was closed she turned to Tavernake. Her manner seemed to become a shade less gracious.
“Well?”
“I don't know why I came,” Tavernake confessed bluntly. “I was restless and I wanted to see you.”
She looked at him for a moment and then she laughed. Tavernake felt a sense of relief; at least she was not angry.
“Oh, you strangest of mortals!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands. “Well, you see me—in one of my most becoming gowns, too. What do you think of the fit?”
She swept round and faced him again with an expectant look. Tavernake, who knew nothing of women's fashions, still realized the superbness of that one unbroken line.
“I can't think how you can move a step in it,” he said, “but you look—”