He wondered whether she knew
with what effectiveness the posture set off her ripe charms--the
fine modeling of the full white throat, the perfect curves of the
dainty arms bare to the elbows, the daring set of the tawny,
tilted head. A spark glowed in his eyes.
"Far be it from me to deny you an accessible pleasure, though I
sacrifice myself to give it. But my sketch must be merely
subjective. I draw the picture as I see it."
She sipped her tea with an air of considering the matter. "You
promise at least a family likeness, with not an ugly wrinkle of
character smoothed away."
"I don't even promise that. For how am I to know what meaning
lurks behind that subtle, shadowy smile? There's irony in it--and
scorn--and sensuous charm--but back of them all is the great
enigma."
"He's off," she derided slangily.
"And that enigma is the complex YOU I want to learn. Of course
you're a specialized type, a product of artistic hothouse
propagation. You're so exquisite in your fastidiousness that to be
near you is a luxury. Simplicity and you have not a bowing
acquaintance. One looks to see your most casual act freighted with
intentions not obvious."
"The poor man thinks I invited him here to propose to him," she
told the fire gravely, stretching out her little slippered feet
toward it.
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