She seemed to sense that he was hurt, and she gave him a long, sympathetic, almost maternal look. She didn't speak, and it pleased him to feel a communication between them that needed no words. They would put aside their differences now and speak of other things.
"I'll tell Stella we're ready for dinner," she said.
As she passed his chair, she laid her hand on his shoulder as she had the night before. Now he laid his over it. She stopped beside him, and her eyes were gold-flecked as they caught the lamplight, and she squeezed his fingers and moved away.
Hours later when she had gone to the door with him, he touched her arms and drew her to him. She came against him willingly, her arms slid around him, but she turned her head to avoid his kiss. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he laid his cheek against her hair.
"Persia," he said, "I've known little in life except roughness. You represent something that I didn't know could exist for me."
She pushed firmly away. "I've been a widow less than three months, Jack. I've no right to listen to such talk. Not now."
Her face was faintly flushed, her eyes dancing. Her smile carried a reprimand and a promise that was as old as womankind.
"You leave right now, Mr. Tesno," she said.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he said.
"Yes!" she whispered. "Yes!"