She flirted her eyelashes at him, and looked so incapable of being serious that he answered, promptly,—
“I shall, if I can find some one to make it comfortable.”
“You don’t need to go begging. You’re quite the belle. Several that are more or less éprises are splendid housekeepers.”
“I am not looking for a housekeeper.”
“What are you looking for?” she asked, audaciously. Her chin was in her hand; her unbound hair clung about her; her tiny feet moved beneath the hem of her frock.
He also was lying on his elbow, his face close to hers. He had always followed her cues, and if she wished to flirt at this late date he was quite willing to respond. He made up his mind abruptly to dismiss all plans and drift with the tide.
“You,” he said, softly.
“Are you proposing to me?”
He noted that she ignored his actual proposal, and commended her tact.