“I was remembering the bathroom,” she said, in answer to his look of inquiry. “It demoralized me completely. Even to the stealing of some of Karzimova’s bath salts. I usually hate a perfumed bath, but the mise en scène fairly shrieked for it. I hope I don’t smell too strong?”
He leaned so close that his flaring nostrils grazed her hair.
“It is hard to tell where the gardenias begin and you end,” he laughed excitedly.
She encountered his flaming eyes with a little thrill of fear.
“I felt more than ever like the heroine of ‘Aphrodite,’” she continued moving away rather nervously. “Do you remember the famous bath?”
His tension relaxed.
“I hope the resemblance was not too accurate?” He laughed daringly. She blushed, and bending forward, chose a peach from the amber bowl in front of them.
“What gorgeous fruit for December! You’re an extravagant creature!”
He helped himself to a sprawling bunch of black grapes.
“Why shouldn’t I be? I sold a bond the other day, and in six weeks I give my first recital. After that, as you know, my time is completely booked. Rosenfield is a slave-driver.”