"I have yet to see Baron Kurt," she said half to herself. "I shall say to him that I care for you. After that—when you come back, and if you wish me to marry you—ask me."
He stood up: "How near may I come to you, Karen?"
"Not very near—just now."
"Near enough to kiss your finger-tip."
"Yes, please."
Without turning her head she extended her arm; his lips touched lightly the fragrant skin, and she pressed her fingers a trifle closer—a second only—then her arm fell to her lap.
"After dinner," she said, "I shall show you the roses in the garden."
"They are no sweeter than your hand, Karen."
She smiled, her flushed cheek still resting against the cushions.
"It is very wonderful, very gentle after all," she murmured to herself.