"Of course not; it's yours, Geraldine."
After a moment she looked up at him:
"Ours?" she asked; but the smile faded once more from eyes and lips; she suffered him to lead her from canvas to canvas, approved them or remained silent, and presently turned and glanced toward the small iron bed. Manner and gaze had become distrait.
"You think this will be comfortable, Duane?" she inquired listlessly.
"Perfectly," he said.
She disengaged her hand from his, walked over to the lounge, turned, and signed for him to seat himself. Then she dropped to her knees and settled down on the rug at his feet, laying her soft cheek against his arm.
"I have some things to tell you," she said in a low voice.
"Very serious things?" he asked, smiling.
"Very."
"All right; I am listening."