“It’s not quite so large as your hat,” he went on, “but I think, if you don’t struggle too much, I can manage to hold it properly.”
He went slowly toward her—she retreated.
“Come,” she commanded;... “cease this foolishness ... my parasol;... I’m going....”
He did not answer.
“Ralph,” she exclaimed, “are you crazy!”
He shook his head and came on.
She was on the stairway now—a glance:—no one was below her. She lifted her skirts with both hands, and backed down the steps, smiling up at him the while, tantalizingly.
“Come on,” she said, as he halted at the top; “I need the parasol; come on.”
“You little devil,” he laughed; “You’ll tempt me once too often.... Here, take your sun-shade—I may have need of it another time.”
“Merci—amant, merci,” she inflected softly, then flung him a kiss from her finger tips—“and you take that—I won’t need it another time—and, if I do, I’ve others.”