When they reached the salon she went to a side-table, and returned presently with a box of cigarettes. This she opened and held out to him with both hands. There was in her movements a marvellous combination of girlish grace and womanly 'finish,' and her attitude as she stood before him with her white arms outstretched, her head thrown back, and her glowing eyes seeking his, was perfect in its artistic conception.
'Please smoke,' she said in a low voice.
He did not respond at once, and, seeing his hesitation, she continued rather hurriedly:
'Surely you need not stand on ceremony with me, Theo? We ... we have been friends all our lives.'
He smiled in a slow, grave way as he took a cigarette.
'Yes,' he answered, 'we know each other pretty well.'
While he struck a match and lighted his cigarette she turned away and took a low chair, swinging the rustling skirt of her dress aside with inimitable grace. It happened that there was a seat close to it, while no other was within convenient reach. Trist remained standing before the fireplace, where some logs burned fragrantly.
'It is a pity,' she said, looking up at him in a curious, half-embarrassed way, 'that we are not cousins. I almost ... wish we were. The world would have nothing to say about our friendship then.'
Trist looked at the burnt end of his cigarette with careful criticism.
'Has the world anything to say ... about it now?'