He gave himself a tiny shake as if he were trying to pull himself into a fresh frame of mind.
“But of course,” he said, “you are adorable.” To a critical ear his tone lacked conviction, but Rose’s ear was not critical; that is to say, not yet. She gave a little sigh of relief.
“I think I know what it was I meant to say,” she stated, “Mamma has been talking to me about marriage.”
“Ah--!” said Léon quickly.
“Something she said,” Rose continued, “made me wonder. You see, I had always supposed when you were in love--that was enough. But what she said made me wonder if perhaps it didn’t matter a good deal how?”
Léon looked a trifle puzzled, but he was also amused, his hardness was beginning to melt under the spell of her wistful loveliness; something--some other spell, perhaps, receded from him.
“Bien sur,” he murmured, looking into her eyes. “It matters how one loves.”
“And I couldn’t help thinking,” Rose went on with gathering confidence, “that you knew rather more about it than I do.”
Léon’s eyes flickered under the yellow lamps. It was almost as if they were laughing at her.
“Yes,” he said caressingly, “yes--that is always possible.”