"Give me the nights, Pansy," he whispered, "and the days I'll leave to you."
"Oh no, I couldn't. Before so long you'd have swallowed up my days too. For there's an air about you as if you wouldn't be satisfied until you had the whole of me. But I shall often think of last night," she went on, a touch of longing in her voice. "In days to come, when we're thousands of miles apart, in the midst of my schemes, when the lights are brightest and the bands their loudest and the fun at its highest, I shall stop all at once with a little pain in my heart and wonder where the nice man is who kissed me under the palms in the Grand Canary. And I shall say to myself, 'Now, if I'd been a marrying sort, I'd have married him.' And twenty years hence, when pleasure palls, I shall wish I had married him; because there'll never be any man I shall like half as much as I like you."
As she talked Le Breton watched her, wild schemes budding and blossoming in his head.
"And I? What shall I be thinking?" he asked.
"You! Oh, you'll have forgotten all about me by next year—Perhaps next month, even," she replied, smiling at him rather sadly. "One girl is much the same to you as the next, provided she's equally pretty. And you'll be thinking, 'What an idiotic fuss I made over that girl I met in Grand Canary. Let me see, what was her name? Violet or Daisy, or some stupid flower name. Who said yes in the moonlight, and no in the cool, calm light of day. Good Lord! but for her sense I should be married now. Married! Phew, what an escape! For if she'd roped me in there'd have been no gallivanting with other women'!"
Le Breton laughed.
"Now I'm forgiven," she said quickly.
"Forgiven, Heart's Ease, yes. But whilst there's life in me you'll never be forgotten."
He paused, looking at her speculatively.
"So far as I see, there's nothing between us except that you're too fond of your own way to get married," he remarked presently.