He held her a light, and, after she had taken a puff or two, she passed her cigarette to him.
"Your tribute, Morgan," she demanded.
He took a puff and passed it back to her. Then, when she had smoked a little:
"It is delicious," she said. "Your lips have given it their sweetness of honey, their fragrance of myrrh."
She leaned leisurely against the mantel, whilst he drew a chair for himself to the opposite corner of the fire. The great emerald gleamed through a dainty cloud of smoke.
"It is lovely here," she said at last. "Such moments as these are the happiest of my life. One's nature must rebel sometimes against being driven along the prescribed lines. There are sides to one's soul, absolutely unallowed for in the ordinary scheme of civilized existence. But instead of letting me moralise, you might be saying some nice things."
"About what?"
"About me, of course."
"Oh! I am enjoying the spectacle you present."
"I built a palace in the air, and, lo and behold! it has proved to be a real palace. I went up to my room to-night and was feeling fanciful and sentimental, which means, of course, I was thinking about you. And then I imagined this whole scene—only a little different; I in this dress, and you at my feet, worshipping me and calling me all sorts of sweet names. And I was coy and held back!"