“Give him the opportunity--to fall in love with you.”
Helene's cheeks flushed a stronger carmine than the rouge which she was administering, as she looked up in quick embarrassment.
“I don't want him to love me. I want no man to love me,” was the petulant answer.
“Doubtless you have reason to be satisfied as things are,” replied Shirley, puffing a cigarette, “but the softness of cerebral conditions increases in direct ratio with the mushiness of the affections. If it is important to us--and you are my partner in this fascinating business venture--will you not sacrifice your emotions to that extent: merely to let him lead himself on, as most men do?” He paused for a critical observation of her, and then added: “You are even more beautiful to-day than you were yesterday. He cannot help loving you if he is given the chance!”
Helene's white fingers crushed the orchid which she was pinning to the bosom of her gown. Her intent gaze met the mask of Shirley's ingenuous smile, reading in his telltale eyes a message which needed no court interpreter! Quickly she turned to her mirror to put the finishing touches to her coiffure, the golden curls so alluringly wilful.
“Your flattery, sir, is very cruel. Beware! I may take it seriously. What would happen if my verdant heart were to fall a victim to the cunning wiles of the voice? Remember, I have only met two men, since I came to America, yesterday. And they are both pronounced woman-haters. I will take you at your word, about Mr. Reginald Warren, and loosen my blandishments to the best of my rustic ability.”
A wayward twinkle in her eyes should have warned Shirley that she was planning a little mischief. But, he was too preoccupied in finding the real front of her baffling street cloak to observe it. They left for the tearoom, while Helene still laughed to herself over certain subtle possibilities which she saw in the situation.
Rather early, again, for the usual throng, they were able to choose their position to their liking: to-day, it was in the center of the big room, close by the space cleared for the dancing. Gradually the tables were occupied, apparently by the identical people of the afternoon before, so marked is the peculiar character of the dance-mad individuality. To-day he varied his menu with a mild order of cocktails--for now he was not emulating the Epicurean record of the bibulous Grimsby. They observed with amusement the weird contortions, seldom graced by a vestige of rhythm or beauty, with which the intent dancers spun and zigzagged.