“You didn’t think anything of—”
“Why, no! I’ve often done the same myself.”
“You? You’ve often done—”
“Of course! Everybody has—at one time or another in their lives.
Naturally it doesn’t happen every day—and one wouldn’t want it to.
One wouldn’t have anything left in the house if it did; but once in a
way—it’s nothing. What astonishes me is that you should have thought of
it.”
“But—but you’ve thought of it.”
“Oh, well—that’s different. But please don’t suppose that I’ve thought
of it seriously. It simply happened that that evening—” The only sign of
embarrassment she gave was in grasping the greenish-goldish veil with her
left hand and pulling it round over her bosom. The great eyes, of which
the light made one doubtful as to the color, glowed feverishly, and the
long scarlet lips threw at me one of their daring, challenging smiles.
“Do you want me to be absolutely frank?”
“We began with frankness, didn’t we? Why shouldn’t we keep it up?”
“Well, it happened that that evening I’d broken off my engagement.”
Not to betray all I had learned by my eavesdropping behind the
rose-colored hangings, I merely said, “Indeed?”
“Yes; and so I was a little—well, perhaps a little excited. And anything
that happened impressed me more than it would have done ordinarily.
If I’ve thought of the way you appeared—and what happened when you
did—it’s only been because it was part of the hours right after—” There
was another of those smiles that were amusingly apologetic as well as
amusingly provocative. “You’re—you’re not married, are you?”
“No.”
“Nor engaged?”
“No.”
“Ever been?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t imagine what it is to have been engaged and nearly
married—and then to find yourself free again. Everything associated with
the minute comes to be imprinted on your memory. That’s why I’ve thought
of it, though I didn’t for the minute recognize you as the man.”
“And now that you have recognized me—”
“I hope you’ll do as I asked you before, and come and see us again.” She
added, as she was about to turn away, “How’s Annette?”