"I would."
She shrugged. "I knew you were a dreamer—captivated by a vision. Suppose you had to see me pinning on store curls?"
"I'd help pin 'em."
"Well, there are plenty of other things to disillusion you. I adore onions."
"So do I," he said.
They laughed together.
She was near enough for him to be aware of the faint scent of her breath, or it may have been a fragrance from her gown which stirred slightly in the evening breeze, or the delicate fresh perfume of her hair and skin—something indefinable, some exquisite emanation of youth which had stolen subtly into his senses—something of her, and as distinctly and inviolably hers as the occult atmosphere of a virgin planet.
"Cousin," she said, "I thought we were to remove our masks in the family circle. They seem to be on as closely as ever."
He looked at her a moment.
"We never will remove them," he said.