"When did you see my woods?"
"Hush, I want to hear Mr. Smallwood sing."
Godfrey could not sing. He disliked fellows who chirruped inanely in drawing-rooms; but he had to sit there, consoling himself by watching Clare's intent, uplifted face.
"O flower of all the world, O flower of all,
I see thee in my garden and I dare
To love thee, and though my deserts be small,
Thou art the only flower I would wear."
"O flower of all the world," thought Godfrey, seeing only Clare's glowing dress, her hands, her perfect arms.
"I dare to love thee," triumphed Dennis Smallwood's pleasant baritone voice.
Clare Duquesne was going back to Germany, to flirt with dapper little German officers. A good thing that she was going. Godfrey knew her type.