“Because he kissed your hand? Oh, that is nothing for a gallant foreigner. It is, indeed, only a mark of respect and obedience, such as that due to queens.”
“But he said ‘Thou art adorable.’ Surely that is more than a gentleman would say to a mere queen,” replied Clara, delighting, like all those in love, to linger over the trifles that make up their bliss, when they are so fortunate as to have a friend wholly worthy of confidence.
“Did he say ‘tu es,’ really? Then you are lost,” replied Susie, laughing. “He must feel very sure of his position, or he would never dare tutoyer.”
“Oh, Susie!” said Clara, embracing her friend, “I am going to be wonderfully sweet to Paul to-night—that is, if I can. He is coming back.”
“Are you? I doubt it. You are so cold to him. I would not be so cruel as you are. I should appreciate such respect, such delicacy. Most men, when you show them the slightest favor, behave like bears.”
“Do I not know that well? If men only knew where their power lay! You know papa says, in the Golden Age women will always take the initiative in love. You believe that, Susie?”
“If the coming man is to have a head like an ostrich egg, I think he’ll be incapacitated for gentle, seductive arts,” said Susie, laughing.
“When you speak of women taking the initiative in love, vulgar people think you mean proposals of matrimony, or caresses at least. The initiative is that which the word implies—the first movement; it is but the slightest thing. When Paul has pressed my hand, I have always drawn it away after a few seconds. He is waiting for me to leave it in his just one second longer. I have never given him a really tender glance. If I were to do so, the ‘bear,’ as you say, would instantly be developed; though I should not apply that word to him. He is the perfect gentleman in everything. He could not offend. I mean to speak to him about that hateful divorce, which forbids me to marry ‘until the said defendant be actually dead.’ I say I mean to; but I have not the slightest certainty that I shall have the courage. I don’t believe you can imagine how I feel about it.”
“Yes I can, dear. Don’t trouble your precious soul about it. Only be sweet and good to Paul, and everything will be well. You are not going to wear that dress? Do put on that lovely white organdie. Will you? I will loop up the skirt with ivy.”
The vision that met the count’s eyes as he entered Clara’s parlor must have charmed the most fastidious taste. The white, gauze-like organdie was looped with ivy by Susie’s cunning hand. It was that rare, silver-edged ivy, with a light crimson flush in some of the leaves. Over the low corsage she wore a Louis-Quinze basque of white duchess lace, the graceful folds of which fell over her exquisite hands that were without ornament of any kind. In the coronal roll of her hair, which fell in many curls from the mass behind, she wore a tiny bouquet of mignonnette and white Neapolitan violets, relieved by a border of green. The basque was closed at top of the corsage with a beautiful cameo of her father’s head in profile. Paul knew she had dressed for him, and the thought was delicious. He expressed warmly his admiration for her toilet—a thing foreign gentlemen are as careful to remember as Americans are to forget; not that they are not sensitive to the beauties of woman’s dress, but it is a habit with very many to ignore the fact that dress can enhance beauty; and then, perhaps from a feeling of delicacy, for American gentlemen are among the most refined in their sentiments toward women. With the older civilizations, dress is a pure art, and artistic effects are always a fit subject for study.