He was horrified at the sight of tears in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean that!” he cried. “Please don’t! Please don’t! I think you—you’re perfect!”
And before he knew it, his arm was about her shoulder, and her head pressed against his chest, a clumsy, a boyish embrace.
“Don’t cry, darling!” he entreated.
She remained motionless. And with a respectful hand he touched her hair.
“Please meet me!” he said.
“In the library—on Wednesday—at four.”
She didn’t ask; she commanded. And he submitted.
V
Miss Waters entered with the lunch on a tray, and young Landry sprang to assist her. He was, Rosaleen observed, remarkably nice and tactful with Miss Waters. He ate what she had provided and praised it. Afterward she brought out a white china flower pot half filled with moist, bent cigarettes, and offered him one; took one herself, too, though it caused her to cough horribly and would very likely make her sick. However, it gave a European touch. She was enchanted with the atmosphere, to find herself nonchalantly smoking cigarettes in a studio in the company of a young and attractive man.