“How can you know?”
“Your eyes——”
“My beaux yeux again.” She shrugged her shoulders, and turned toward the door. “It is time, I think, for you to practice pool-shots.”
“Ah, you are cruel!” He stepped before her and held out protesting hands. “I do not care for pool, Madame.”
“Or Napoleon?”
“No—I wish to talk with you. Please!”
She paused, appraising him sideways.
“I have some letters to write,” she said, briefly.
“Please, Madame.” He stood before her, his slender figure gracefully bent, motioning appealingly toward the deep davenport, which was set invitingly in front of the fire. She followed his gesture with her eyes, then with a light laugh passed before him and sat down.