»What makes you smile?« The girl smiled involuntarily.
»Because I am comfortable.... How soft your pillows are! Now we can talk awhile. Why don't you drink something?«
»I think I shall take off my things ... if you don't mind? I shall have to sit still so long.«
Her voice had a touch of mockery. But at the sight of his unsuspecting glance, and hearing his simple.... »Certainly, please do« ... she explained quite simply and seriously: »My corset is so tight. I shall take it off, too ... if I may.«
»Certainly, you may.«
He turned away, blushing. But, either because insomnia had so addled his thoughts, or because all his life he had been so innocent, his »you may« sounded quite natural to him ... in a house where all things were allowed and nobody ever thought of asking anybody's leave about anything.
He heard a rustling of silk and the unbuttoning of a dress,—then a question:
»You are not an author?«
»What ... an author? No, I am not an author. Er ... do you like authors?«
»No, I do not.«