“You savage,” she said, “you brutal savage; don’t ever speak to me again.”
He stepped forward and offered his arm, with all the suavity he knew so well.
“Never again after dinner, mademoiselle,” he said sadly; “meanwhile, the pleasure is mine.”
And to his surprise she took his arm; and when the others’ backs were turned, she looked up and smiled, the impudently provoking smile he had suffered under so long, and had at last punished.
“My compliments, Monsieur Ralph, on your adroit proficiency,”—and the tone and manner were as provoking as the smile—“it is quite unnecessary to refer to what it proves.”
“As much so, as to refer to what enables one to recognize proficiency,” he agreed.
“And if all the men I know are like you, sir—”
He bent down.
“Now that is an inference I’m curious to hear.”
“Do you want them to be like you?” she asked, eyes half closed and glances sidelong—“because, if you do, it would be rather easy to oblige you—and may be not unpleasant—and I can begin with His Highness of Lotzen—truly it’s a pity, now, I ruined my frock so needlessly this morning, in the japonica walk;” and giving him no time for reply, she dropped his arm and glided quickly into the chair the bewigged and powdered footman was holding for her.