Jacqueline remained motionless for a few moments, an incomprehensible expression on her face; then she went over to him and took one of his hands in her gloved ones, and stood looking down at it in silence.
She said, still looking down at his hand lying between her own:
"You have behaved in the sweetest way to me--" Her voice grew unsteady, and she turned her head sharply away.
"Jacqueline!" he exclaimed under his breath. "It's a broken reed you're trusting. Don't, dear. I'm like all the others."
She shook her head slightly, still looking away from him. After a short silence, her voice returned to her control again.
"You are very kind to me, Mr. Desboro. When a man sees that a girl likes him--and is kind to her--it is wonderful to her."
"It's the case of the beast born in captivity, Jacqueline. I'm only going through the tricks convention has taught me. But every instinct remains unaltered."
"Oh, I don't know what it is--you wonderful little thing!"
He caught her hand, then encircled her waist, drawing her close. After a moment, she dropped her big, fluffy muff on his shoulder and hid her flushed face in the fur.
"Don't trust me, will you?" he said, bluntly.
"We--both have to account--sometime--to somebody. Don't we?" she said in a muffled voice.
"What else is there to remember--when a girl--cares for a man."
Perhaps she considered the question superfluous, for she remained silent until his nerveless arm released her. Then she lifted her face from the muff. It was pale but smiling when he met her eyes.
"I'll go to see Mrs. Hammerton, some day," she said, "because it would hurt too much not to be able to come here when you ask me--and other people--like the--the Clydesdales. You _were_ thinking of me when you thought of this, weren't you?"
"In a way. A girl has got to reckon with what people say."
She nodded, pale and expressionless, slowly brushing up the violets fastened to her muff.
Farris appeared, announced the time, and held Desboro's coat. They had just margin enough to make their train.
The following morning, Aunt Hannah returned to her tiny apartment on Park Avenue, financially benefitted by her Westchester sojourn, having extracted a bolt of Chinese loot-silk for a gown from her nephew's dismayed wife, and the usual check from her nephew.
