She nearly always wore grey, a ribbon or a flower, material or cut, diversified her wardrobe. To-night the grey material was the softest crepe de chine; and she wore one pink rose in a blue belt. This treatment gave value to her blonde cendré hair and fair complexion, she gave the impression of a most delicate, slightly faded, yet modern miniature.
"You always please me."
"Please, or excite you?"
"My dear one!"
He was startled, thought she did not know what it was she was saying. His blood leaped, but he had it under control. What was growing perfectly between them was love. She would soon be a free woman.
"I want to know. Sometimes I wonder if I were more beautiful …"
"You could not be more beautiful."
"More like other women, or perhaps if you were more like other men …"
"There is no difference between me and other men," he answered quickly. And then although he thought she did not know what she was implying, or where the conversation might carry them, he went on even more steadily: "I want to carry out your wishes. If I had the privilege of telling you all that is in my heart …"
"I am admiring your self-control."
It was true she hardly knew what was impelling
