corking," he said
vaguely, "but I've got to go down to the hatchery with Kathleen, so you
won't mind if I leave----"

He closed the door behind him before anybody could speak. Duane moved
toward the door.

"It's a charming costume," he said, "and most charmingly worn; your hair
is exactly right--not too much powder, you know----"

"Where shall I put my patch? Here?"

"Higher."

"Here?"

He came back to the centre of the room where she stood.

"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 regle, 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."

"What's the use?"

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.

"It isn't for him to make them."

"Hasn't he objected?"

"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 rea