“Nothing about my beaux yeux then,” she mocked.
He glanced at her with a smile which showed his fine teeth and sank beside her and at a distance.
“Voilà, Madame! You see? I am an angel of discretion.”
She smiled approvingly. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Do we?” he asked with a suggestion of effrontery.
“I hope so.”
“I’m not so sure. To me you are still a mystery.”
“Am I? That’s curious. I’ve tried to make my meaning plain. Perhaps I can make it clearer. For some weeks you have been making love to me, Monsieur. I don’t like it. I never flirt, except with the very ancient or the very youthful,” she said mendaciously. “You don’t come within my age limits.”
He laughed gayly.