"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck. She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought with quaint embroidery.
"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest. May I smoke a pipe?"
"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.
For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers among the tinted silks and thread of gold.
Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"
"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other——"
"Dick!"
"Dearest?"
"Don't be flippant."
"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has them. No family should be without 'em."