"Dear little girl, I won't tease you. Tell me, have you read any more books on philosophy lately?"
I drank the last sip of my tea, and held out my cup. It was nice tea.
"No, I have not had time to read anything. There, you can take my cup. You have such pretty things here. Everything is suitable, and it gives me pleasure. I don't feel philosophical; I feel genuine human enjoyment."
"That is good to know. Well, we won't be philosophical, then, we will be humanly happy," and he sat down beside me.
I took up, idly, a little book that was lying on a table near, because my silly heart had begun to beat again, like Lydia Languish or any vaporish young lady in an early romance. I looked at the title and Antony looked at me. I read it over without taking in the sense, and then the name arrested my attention.
"A Digit of the Moon," I said, "What a queer title!"
"What long eyelashes you have, Comtesse!" said Antony, apropos of nothing. "They make a great shadow on your cheek, and they have no business to be so dark, with your light, mud-colored hair."
"How rude, to call my hair mud-colored!" I said, indignantly, "I always thought it blond cendré."
"So it is, and it shines like burnished metal. But you are a vain little thing, I expect, and I did not wish to encourage you."
His voice was full of a caress. I did not dare to look into his queer cat's eyes.