"Here," he said, indenting the firm, cool ivory skin with one finger, "and here. Wear two."
"And my rings--do you think that my fingers are overloaded?" She held out her fascinating smooth little hands. He supported them on his upturned palms and examined the gems critically.
They talked for a few moments about the rings, then: "Thank you so much," she said, with a carelessly friendly pressure. "How about my shoes? Are the buckles of the period?"
One of her hands encountered his at hazard, lingered, dropped, the fingers still linked lightly in his. She bent over, knees straight, and lifted the hem of her petticoat, displaying her Louis XVI footwear.
"Shoes and buckles are all right," he said; "faultless, true to the period--very fascinating.... I've got to go--one or two things to do----"
They examined the shoes for some time in silence; still bending over she turned her dainty head and looked around and up at him. There was a moment's pause, then he kissed her.
"I was afraid you'd do that--some day," she said, straightening up and stepping back one pace, so that their linked hands now hung pendant between them.
"I was sure of it, too," he said. "Now I think I'd better go--as all things are en règle, even the kiss, which was classical--pure--Louis XVI.... Besides, Scott was idiot enough to shut the door. That's Louis XVI, too, but too much realism is never artistic."
"We could open the door again--if that's why you're running away from me."
She glanced at the door and then calmly seated herself.
"Do you think that we are together too much?" she asked.
"Hasn't your husband made similar observations?" he replied, laughing.
"He has suddenly and unaccountably become disagreeable enough to make me wish he had some real grounds for his excitement!" she said coolly, and closed her teeth with a little click. She added, between them: "I'm inclined to give him something real to howl about."
He said: "You're adrift. Do you know it?"
"Certainly I know it. Are you prepared to offer salvage? I'm past the need of a pilot."
He smiled. "You haven't drifted very far yet--only as far as Mallett Harbour. That's usually the first port--for derelicts. Anchors are dropped rather frequently there--but, Rosalie, there's no safe mooring except in the home port."