“I swear, Letty,” he said impulsively, “you’re really more beautiful than ever. You’re exquisite. You’ve grown younger instead of older.”
“You think so?” she smiled, looking up into his face.
“You know I do, or I wouldn’t say so. I’m not much on philandering.”
“Oh, Lester, you bear, can’t you allow a woman just a little coyness? Don’t you know we all love to sip our praise, and not be compelled to swallow it in one great mouthful?”
“What’s the point?” he asked. “What did I say?”
“Oh, nothing. You’re such a bear. You’re such a big, determined, straightforward boy. But never mind. I like you. That’s enough, isn’t it?”
“It surely is,” he said.
They strolled into the garden as the music ceased, and he squeezed her arm softly. He couldn’t help it; she made him feel as if he owned her. She wanted him to feel that way. She said to herself, as they sat looking at the lanterns in the gardens, that if ever he were free, and would come to her, she would take him. She was almost ready to take him anyhow—only he probably wouldn’t. He was so straight-laced, so considerate. He wouldn’t, like so many other men she knew, do a mean thing. He couldn’t. Finally Lester rose and excused himself. He and Jennie were going farther up the Nile in the morning—toward Karnak and Thebes and the water-washed temples at Phylæ. They would have to start at an unearthly early hour, and he must get to bed.
“When are you going home?” asked Mrs. Gerald, ruefully.
“In September.”