He picked up the check and gave it to her.
"I am no actor," he said, looking at her steadily. "At present, I make
no conditions. But--"
She leaned towards him. He took her face between his hands and kissed
her on the lips.
"I may make them later," he said. "I reserve my right."
She looked at him for a moment, and dropped her veil.
"Please take me down to my carriage," she asked.
THE INDISCRETION OF THE MARCHIONESS
"I am perfectly certain," Juliet declared, "that we ought not to be
here."
"That," Aynesworth remarked, fanning himself lightly with his pocket
handkerchief, "may account for the extraordinary sense of pleasure
which I am now experiencing. At the same time, I can't see why not."
"I only met you this afternoon--a few hours ago. And here we are,
absolutely wedged together on these seats--and my chaperon is dozing
half the time."
"Pardon me," Aynesworth objected, "I knew you when you were a child."
"For one day!"
"Nevertheless," Aynesworth persisted, "the fact remains. If you date
our acquaintance from this afternoon, I do not. I have never forgotten
the little girl in short frocks and long black hair, who showed me
where the seagulls built, and told me Cornish fairy stories."
"It was a very long time ago," she remarked.
"Four years," he answered; "for you, perhaps, a long time, because you
have changed from a child--into a woman. But for a man approaching
middle age--as I am--nothing!"
"That is all very well," she answered, "but I am not sure that we
ought to be in the gallery at Covent Garden together, with a chaperon
who will sleep!"
"She will wake up," he declared, "with the music.
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