“Crazy! Your engagement would be broken off to-morrow.” And she further said: “If I really thought it would, why I’d come like a shot.”
As she leaned forward, her cloak slipping from her neck, revealing her throat above the dark collar of the simple dress she wore, he looked in her dove-gray eyes, and murmured:
“Oh, say, do come along and risk it. I’m game, all right.”
She hesitated, then bade him good night languidly, slipping back into her old attitude of indifference.
“I am going home to rest. Good night. I don’t think the duchess would let you go, no matter what you did!”
Dan, standing there at her motor door, this beautiful, well-known woman bantering him, leaning toward him, was conscious of her alone, all snowy and small and divine in her enveloping scarf, lost in the corner of her big car.
“I hate to have you go back alone to the Savoy. I really do. Please let me—”
But she shook her head. “Tell the man the Savoy,” and as Dan, carrying out her instructions, closed the door, he said: “I don’t like that empty vase in there. Would you be very good and put some flowers in it if they came?”
She wouldn’t promise, and he went on:
“Will you put only my flowers in that vase always hereafter?”