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Blake? Well," she went on, "I've been traveling for about two days now, so my idea of heaven to-night is a room all my own, prepared in light blue, with my things spread all around everywhere, and expensive damask at the windows, and heavy mahogany furniture, and a soft carpet, and lots of mirrors, and a big generous closet, and a comfy couch" (where in the world, thought Lucretia, had she read this, anyhow?), "and all the heat I want, and a tiny silk-shaded electric light at the head of the bed, and a masseuse due in fifteen minutes, and—" She stopped. What had she said? A masseuse! And she was about to stumble on to the "nice, big, prosperous husband!" Was the quinine going to her head? She glanced up to see if any one else had heard, and her eyes suddenly met those of Thomas Hornby, directly opposite. He was gazing straight at her; he had heard every word. She felt it in the amazed and interested expression in his eyes. She looked away, flushed deeply, and reached for her water. She took three or four swallows, and glanced across the table again. How rude of him! He was still staring at her. At last he looked away, but she was conscious of his gray eyes seeking her out again and again, as the courses proceeded. It was uncomfortable.