I know why she wore glasses. She cannot control the expression of her eyes! The pupils dilate and contract and tell one wonderful things! I know that this attitude of mine is having a powerful effect upon her, the feminine in her hates to feel that she has lost power over me—even over my senses. I could have laughed aloud, I was so pleased with my success, but I did not dare to look at her much, or I could never have kept the game up. She was more delectable than I can ever describe.
"It would interest me so much to know why your hands used to be so red," I asked after a little pause. "They are getting so much whiter now."
"I had work to do, dishes to wash, our old nurse was too ill, as well as my mother, and my little brother then—" there was a break in her soft voice. "I do not like red hands any more than you do. They distressed my father always. I will try to take care of them now."
"Yes—do."
The evening post had come in, and been put by Burton discreetly on a side table. He naturally thought such mundane things could not interest me on my wedding night. I caught sight of the little pile and asked Alathea to bring them to me.
She did. One from Coralie was lying on top and one immediately under it from Solonge de Clerté! Alathea saw that they were both in female writing. The rest were bills and business.
"Do you permit me to open them?" I asked punctiliously.
"Of course," and she reddened. "Are you not master here? How absurd to ask me!"
"It is not; you are Lady Thormonde, even if you are not my wife, and have a right to courtesy."
She shrugged her shoulders.