"Yes, I do," Gerard replied candidly. "Why not?"
"You're right. Now, I want to tell you about a deal I put through in the Street, to-day."
Flavia moved to the piano and began to touch the keys. She knew there would be only men's talk for a while, and from this place she could watch Gerard unseen. In all the previous days she had avoided this, refusing to take cognizance of the physical beauty upon which Isabel dilated, half-unconsciously defending herself from an undefined danger. She commenced to play pastel-toned bits of Nevin and Chaminade, her clear eyes delighting in free vision.
Out on the veranda, Corrie was sustaining a defense of his own. Upright against a column, scarlet with determination, Isabel pursued the wilful desire she had voiced at the dinner-table.
"That Frenchwoman was around the course with her husband, yesterday," she urged. "Other women have done it before. Why won't you take me?"
"You might get hurt. Father never would let you."
"He needn't know, stupid. You don't want to, that's all. I'll ask Mr. Gerard; he'll like to take me."
The poison had been drawn from that sting, but Corrie winced, nevertheless.
"I want you, Isabel. I love you."