Good-morning," she added, shyly extending a fresh cool hand; "I am really none the worse for wear you see." That was plain enough.

In her fresh and youthful beauty the only sign of the night's unwisdom was in the scarcely perceptible violet tint under her thick lashes.

Her skin was clear and white and dewy fresh, her dark eyes unwearied--her gracefully slender presence fairly fragrant with health and vigour.
She seated herself--offered to share with him in dumb appeal, urged him in delicious pantomime, and smiled encouragingly as he reluctantly found a chair beside her and divided the magnificent melon.
"Did you have a good time ?" he asked, trying not to speak ungraciously.
"Y-yes....

It was a silly sort of a time." "Silly ?" "I was rather sentimental--with Querida." He said nothing--grimly.
"I told you last night, Louis.

Why couldn't you see me ?" "I was dining out; I couldn't." She sipped her chilled grapefruit meditatively: "I hadn't seen you for a week," she laughed, glancing sideways at him, "and that lonely feeling began about five o'clock; and I called you up at seven because I couldn't stand it....