"Do you mind?" he asked.
"N-no."
He laid his lips to her fingers again; she stirred uneasily, then rested her other arm on the back of the seat and shaded her eyes.
"I think—you had better not—touch me—any more—" she said faintly.
"Is it disagreeable?"
"Yes—n-no.... It is—it has nothing to do with friendship—" she looked up, flushed, curious: "Why do you always want to touch me, Mr. Quarren?"
"Did you never caress a flower?"
"Rix!"—she caught her breath as his name escaped her for the first time, and he saw her face surging in the loveliest colour. "It was your nonsensical answer!—I—it took me by surprise ... and I ask your pardon for being stupid.... And—may I have my hand? I use it occasionally."
He quietly reversed it, laid his lips to the palm, and released her fingers.
"Strelsa," he said, "I'm coming back into the battle again."