His look changed a little. His eyes shone through the veil of smoke she threw between them, "I can buy ready-made socks. I'm not going to let you make them—or mend them."
Sylvia's red lips expressed scorn. "Ready-made rubbish! No, sir. With your permission I prefer to make. Then perhaps I shall have less mending to do."
He was drawing her to him and she did not actively resist, though there was no surrender in her attitude.
"And why won't you have any money?" he said. "We are partners."
She laughed lightly. "And you give me board and lodging. I am not worth more."
He looked her in the eyes. "Are you afraid to take too much—lest
I should want too much in return?"
She did not answer. She was trembling a little in his hold, but her eyes met his fearlessly.
He put up a hand and took the cigarette very gently from her lips.
"Sylvia, I'm going to tell you something—if you'll listen."
He paused a moment. She was suddenly throbbing from head to foot.
"What is it?" she whispered.