'I should not like you as well in stone-coloured merino as in blue.
Should a bird of paradise wear the plumage of a thrush or a quail?'
Hazel looked soberly down at the dark silky waves that rippled along between her and the firelight. She said not a word. Dane knew well enough what she was thinking of, but chose to have the subject brought forward by herself if at all. He paused a minute.
'Would you like a trunk filled like Prim's?'
Hazel trilled her fingers thoughtfully over the hand that lay near her, and then suddenly asked, 'Does that annoy you?'
'Not much,' said Rollo drily. She glanced up at him.
'Mr. Falkirk used to hate it.And I forgot what my hand was about,' said Hazel; sedately folding it again with its small comrade. From which it as brought back, first to her husband's lips.
'Have we got to the bottom of that trunk yet?'
'There was another point,' said Hazel. 'Should I ever get to the bottom of it?'
'Never!' said Dane. 'If getting to the bottom of it implied using what you took out.'
Hazel laughed a little.