"A great many ceilings? I should like to see that!" Florimond exclaimed.
Rachel Torrance, with her usual promptness, adopted this fantasy. "Yes, I have decorated half the churches in Brooklyn; you know how many there are."
"If you mean fans, I wish men carried them," the young man went on; "I should like to have one de votre façon."
"You 're cool enough as you are; I should be sorry to give you anything that would make you cooler!"
This retort, which may not strike the reader by its originality, was pregnant enough for Mrs. Daintry; it seemed to her to denote that the situation was critical; and she proposed to retire. Florimond walked home with her; but it was only as they reached their door that she ventured to say to him what had been on her tongue's end since they left Arlington Street.
"Florimond, I want to ask you something. I think it is important, and you must n't be surprised. Are you in love with Rachel Torrance?"
Florimond stared, in the light of the street-lamp. The collar of his overcoat was turned up; he stamped a little as he stood still; the breath of the February evening pervaded the empty vistas of the "new land." "In love with Rachel Torrance? Jamais de la vie! What put that into your head?"
"Seeing you with her, that way, this evening. You know you are very attentive."
"How do you mean, attentive?"
