She laughed a light, merry, tantalising laugh, as if ridiculing such an idea. Her face at that instant seemed more attractive than ever it appeared before; her smiling lips, half-parted, seemed pouted, inviting me to kiss them.
“Why should a man be attracted by a woman’s face?” she argued, growing suddenly serious again. “He should judge her by her manner, her thoughts, her womanly feeling, and her absence of that masculine affectation which in these days so deforms the feminine character.”
“But beauty is one of woman’s most charming attributes,” I ventured to remark.
“Are not things that are most beautiful the most deadly?”
“Certainly, some are,” I admitted.
“Then for aught you know the influence I can exert upon you may be of the most evil kind,” she suggested.
“No, no!” I hastened to protest. “I’ll never believe that—never! I wish for no greater pleasure than that you should remain my friend.”
She was silent for some time, gazing slowly around the room. Her breast heaved and fell, as if overcome by some flood of emotion which she strove to suppress. Then, turning again to me, she said—
“I have forewarned you.”
“Of what?”