And in her heart, too, a door seemed to open, and her youthful soul stepped out of it, naked, fearless, quite certain of itself and, for the first time during their brief and earthly partnership, quite certain of the body wherein it dwelt.
He was thinking of Thessalie when Dulcie came 308 up and stood beside him, looking down into the water where a few goldfish swam.
“Well, Sweetness,” he said, brightening, “you look very wonderful in white, with that big hat on your very enchanting red hair.”
“I feel both wonderful and enchanted,” she said, lifting her eyes. “I shall live in the country some day.”
“Really?” he said smiling.
“Yes, when I earn enough money. Do you remember the crazy way Strindberg rolls around? Well, I feel like doing it on that lawn.”
“Go ahead and do it,” he urged. But she only laughed and chased the goldfish around the basin with gentle fingers.
“Dulcie,” he said, “you’re unfolding, you’re blossoming, you’re developing feminine snap and go and pep and je-ne-sais-quoi.”
“You’re teasing. But I believe I’m very feminine—and mature—though you don’t think so.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re exactly at an age called well-preserved,” he said, laughing. He took her hands and drew her up to confront him. “You’re not too old to have me as a playmate, Sweetness, are you?”