“Yes, women like me,” she replied. “Why—you might get tired of me.” She caught her breath a little. “I might fade—I am not as pretty as I was—but you——”
“Aurora—I adore you.”
“Thank you,” said the Countess unsteadily. “Thank you for loving me. That is why I want to help you—you have made life wonderful to me by your love——”
He dropped his hands to her shoulders and she looked up at him.
“And you—have you not loved me, Aurora?” he asked.
“Oh, a woman’s love does not count!”
Augustus did not understand her mood, he was not a man to nicely read a woman’s complexities; and the next second Aurora did not understand it herself, and was lifting her shoulders with a laugh both for her words and his bewilderment.
“I am a silly creature,” she said lightly, “but I only seek to please you.”
She gently drew herself away, rose and went to the fire; the yellow coat, the gleaming hair, dressed in long, smooth curls slightly disordered and falling over the smooth white fur; the proud air and bearing of her, the piquant, gay face, made a fair picture in the brilliant glow that shone on her from head to foot and threw her figure, a thing of light against the gloomy background of the room, darkening in the fading light of the winter afternoon.
“Now—my advice,” she said. “I wonder—will you take it?”