About these things, their workmanship, the histories of their times, he told her in his easy, unaccented voice, glancing sideways at her from time to time to note how she stood it.
But she listened, fascinated, her gaze moving from the object discussed to the man who discussed it; her slim limbs curled under her, her hands clasped around a silken cushion made from the robe of some Chinese princess.
Lounging there beside her, amused, humorously flattered by her attention, and perhaps a little touched, he held forth a little longer.
“Is it a nice party, so far, Dulcie?” he concluded with a smile.
She flushed, found no words, nodded, and sat with lowered head as though pondering.
“What would you rather do if you could do what you want to in the world, Dulcie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think a minute.”
She thought for a while.
“Live with you,” she said seriously.