“I love them,” he confessed. “Is it low-brow of me? But their whiteness and fragrance remind me of you. And they are mysterious and exotic, which is another point of resemblance.”
She laughed tenderly, her hand nestled against his blonde mane.
“Why will men always call me mysterious? Is it because, although I have red hair, my lashes and brows happen to be black instead of white like a guinea pig’s?”
“Perhaps that is one reason. And then you are so very white and slim, a tower of ivory!” He turned his head lazily and brushed her palm with his lips. “But your flesh isn’t cold like ivory, it is as white and warm as new milk. Anne, kiss me!”
He threw back his head, exposing the full young throat that always fascinated her. She bent low and their lips crushed against each other. A flush spreading beneath her smooth pallor, she raised her head and looked down at him.
“What time is it?” she inquired abruptly. “It must be quite late. I ought to be dressing for dinner, you know.”
“Oh no, stay just as you are, dearest. You look beautiful. Besides, I can’t bear to lose the time!”
“Crazy boy!” She removed him gently and rose to her feet. “What time do you dine?”
“Eight o’clock, I suppose.” He looked abused.
“I must hurry then. It is long after seven. Come now, be good and run away.” She patted his cheek. “Would you have me a Cinderella in such gorgeousness as this?” She waved a dramatic hand towards the hangings. Her lips curved mockingly.