He leaned forward as if to look straight into her eyes. Mariposa suddenly flushing and feeling uncomfortable, dropped them. The sensation she so often experienced with Essex, of being awkward and raw, was intensified now by the annoyed embarrassment provoked by the florid gallantry of his words. But she was too inexperienced a little fly to deal with this cunning spider, and tangled herself worse in the web by saying nervously:
“And my nose! I haven’t got that kind of nose? Oh, surely not,” putting up a gloved hand to feel of its unsatisfactoriness.
“You have the dearest little nose in the world, straight as a Greek statue’s. It’s a little bit haughty, but I like it that way. And your mouth,” he dropped his voice slightly, “your mouth—”
Mariposa made a sudden movement of annoyance. She threw up her head and looked at the curtain with frowning brows.
“Don’t,” she said sharply, “I don’t like you to talk about me like that.”
Essex was silent, regarding her profile with a deliberating eye and a slight, amused smile. How crude she was and how handsome! After a moment’s silence, he leaned toward her and said in a voice full of good-humored banter:
“Butterfly! Butterfly! Why did they call you Butterfly?”
The change in his tone and manner put her back at once on the old footing of gay bonhomie.
“In English, that way, it sounds dreadful, doesn’t it? Fancy me being called Butterfly! I was called after the flower. My whole name is Mariposa Lily.”
“Mariposa Lily!” he repeated in amused amazement; “what an absurd name!”