She surrendered her own.
"Now?" he asked, smiling.
"No, no."
He stooped and kissed her hair.
"Now, perhaps?"
"Yes, . . almost. Though I'm not sure that you deserve it."
"I don't," he answered humbly, taking the wind out of her sails.
Then objects in the room behind her caught his attention:—her dressing-table, with its silver-backed brushes and hand-glass, its dainty feminine litter; her blue dressing-gown flung over a chair; and, tucked away in a corner, her small comfortless bed.
"Come out into the garden, away from all this," he said hurriedly, almost angrily. "Why on earth did you drag me up here?"
"Because it's the man's place to come to the woman," she answered, with a demure dignity more provocative than tenderness. "It has been too much the other way round between us lately. As one has to suffer from the drawbacks of being a woman, one may as well enjoy the advantages also."