“Well, if he were a notary? Would that be different?” Her soft brown eyes were hardly visible between their lids, but they were burning with an intense light.
“Yes, it might be.” Same air of nonchalance—anything to please the delightful woman.
“Or a chemist?”—just a slit between the lids now, with little flashes along the edges.
“Or a chemist,” intoned Lemois.
“Or a head gardener, perhaps?” Both eyes tight shut under the fluffy gray hair, an intense expression on her face.
“Why not say a minister of state, madame?” laughed Lemois.
“No—no—don’t you dare run away like that. Stand to your guns, monsieur. If he were a head gardener, then what?”
Lemois rose from his chair, laid his hand on his shirt-front, and bowed impressively. He was evidently determined to humor her passing whim.
“If he were a head gardener I would not have the slightest objection, madame.”
She sprang to her feet and began clapping her plump hands, her laughter filling the room.