A triumphant glory flashed in her eyes—her red lips parted in a ravishing smile.
"You cannot help it!" she repeated—"That little white lady—that friend of yours whom you hate and love at the same time!—she told me I was 'quite beautiful!' I know I am!—and you know it too!"
He bent his eyes upon her gravely.
"I have always known it—yes!"—he said, then paused—"Dear child, beauty is nothing—"
She made a swift step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. Her ardent, glowing face was next to his.
"You speak not truly!" and her voice was tremulous—"To a man it is everything!"
Her physical fascination was magnetic, and for a moment he had some trouble to resist its spell. Very gently he put an arm round her,—and with a tender delicacy of touch unfastened the rose she wore at her bosom.
"There, dear!" he said—"I will keep this with me for company! It is like you—except that it doesn't talk and doesn't ask for love—"
"It has it without asking!" she murmured.
He smiled.