She had been pleased at the time, but they had had no permanent effect.
Now everything he said had a different influence: she felt for the first time that it was not easy to look into his eyes, and as if she never could again without betraying--she knew not what.
So they sat there, he talking, she listening and questioning now and then.

She had placed the bottle of liqueur and the seed-cakes at his elbow on the windowsill; and as if mechanically, he poured out a glassful, and after a little time, still another, and at last, apparently unconsciously, poured her out one also, and handed it to her.
She shook her head; he still held the glass poised; her eyes met his; she made a feeble sort of protest, then took the glass and drank off the liqueur in little sips.
"Gad, that puts fat on the bones, and gives the gay heart!" he said.
"Doesn't it, though ?" She laughed quietly.

Her nature was warm, and she had the animal-like fondness for physical ease and content.
"It's as if there wasn't another stroke of work to do in the world," she answered, and sat contentedly back in her chair, the strawberries in her lap.

Her fingers, stained with red, lay beside the bowl.

All the strings of conscious duty were loose, and some of them were flying.
The bumble-bee that flew in at the door and boomed about the room contributed to the day-dream.
She never quite knew how it happened that a moment later he was bending over the back of her chair, with her face upturned to his, and his lips--With that touch thrilling her, she sprang to her feet, and turned away from him towards the table.