She sighed as she dropped into his seat.
“I don’t suppose you are.”
He pushed a chair to the further side of the fireplace, and watched, while she drew off slowly her long gloves, with the flicker of curiosity which was always lambent on his face. It was like a color there.
The girl bent down, and spread out her arms to the glow. She let them fall on the front of her skirt, pressing it back from the little pink and gold slippers on the grate stone.
“What a man you are for fires!” she said.
“I like warmth.”
“In coals,” was her retort.
She looked up at him sideways, smiling.
“Why don’t you ask to see my frock?”
“Because I want to,” he said.