“Probably I feel like that,” said Cleves, laughing outright. “I take your word, dear, anyway.”
But he took more; he picked up her soft hand where it still rested on his, pressed it, and instantly reddened because he had done it. And Tressa’s bright flush responded so quickly that neither of them understood, and both misunderstood.
The girl rose with heightened colour, not knowing why she stood up or what she meant to do. And Cleves, misinterpreting her emotion as a silent rebuke to the invasion of that convention tacitly accepted between them, stood up, too, and began to speak carelessly of commonplace things.
She made the effort to reply, scarcely knowing what she was saying, so violently had his caress disturbed her heart,—and she was still speaking when their telephone rang.
Cleves went; listened, then, still listening, summoned Tressa to his side with a gesture.
“It’s Selden,” he said in a low voice. “He says he has the Yezidee Arrak Sou-Sou under observation, and that he needs you desperately. Will you help us?”
“I’ll go, of course,” she replied, turning quite pale.
Cleves nodded, still listening. After a while: “All right. We’ll be there. Good-bye,” he said sharply; and hung up.
Then he turned and looked at his wife.
“I wish to God,” he muttered, “that this business were ended. I—I can’t bear to have you go.”