"I don't know what to say," he murmured. "There aren't any words—but—you understand."
She pulled his face still closer and kissed him on the lips, though blushing as she did so, for this young woman had fancies regarding lips and regarding kisses which should be entertained by a greater number of the women of the land. Then she told him to lie upon the sand again; that she wanted to look at him. And he obeyed, machine-like.
She was in a fantastic mood assuredly. She watched him, her cheek resting upon one little hand for a long time, a thoughtful look upon her face. Then she broke out impetuously:
"How smooth and clean your face is! Do you—do you go to—you know what I mean. Do you go to a barber every day?"
He answered that he shaved himself.
"Is it very hard?" she asked.
"Well, that depends."
She studied once more for a long time, then spoke again, on this occasion blushing furiously:
"Grant, dear, I want to do things for you always. I want to take care of you. It seems to me that, some time, I might learn, you know. It seems to me that some time I might almost"—with a little gasp—"shave you."
He wanted to gather her up in his arms and smother and caress her, after that climax of tender admission, but she waved her hand as she saw him rising. He fell back then upon his ignoble habit of talking vast science to her.