And so long had he, Anisty, starved for affection!...
"I am sure you must be dying for a smoke."
"Beg pardon!" He awoke abruptly, to find himself twirling the sharp-ribbed
stem of his empty glass. Abstractedly he stared into this, as though
seeking there a clue to what they had been talking about. Hazily he
understood that they had been drifting close upon the perilous shoals of
intimate personalities. What had he told her? What had he not?
No matter. It was clearly to be seen that her regard for him had waxed
rather than waned as a result of their conversation. One had but to
look into her eyes to be reassured as to that. One did look, breathing
heavily.... What an ingenuous child it was, to show him her heart so
freely! He wondered that this should be so, feeling it none the less a just
and graceful tribute to his fascinations.
She repeated her arch query. She was sure he wanted to smoke.
Indeed he did--if she would permit? And forthwith Maitland's cigarette case
was produced, with a flourish.
"What a beautiful case!"
In an instant it was in her hands. "Beautiful!" she iterated, inspecting
the delicate tracery of the monogram engraver's art--head bended forward,
face shaded by the broad-brimmed hat.
"You like it? You would care to own it?" Anisty demanded unsteadily.
"I?" The inflection of doubtful surprise was a delight to the ear. "Oh!...
I couldn't think of accepting.... Besides, I have no use for it."
"Of course you ain't--_are_ not that sort.
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