Some day another light should
shine in those wonderful eyes. I saw her before me transformed, saw color
in her still, marble cheeks, saw her lips drift into a softer curve,
heard the tremor of passion in her quiet, languid tone.
"Do you know that you are staring at me?" she remarked, calmly.
I apologized profusely.
"It is a bad habit of mine," I assured her. "I was looking--beyond."
There was real interest then in her face. She leaned a little forward.
Perhaps it was my fancy, but I thought that she seemed to regard me
differently.
"How interesting!" she said. "Do you know I had not given you credit for
much imagination. You must tell me what you saw!"
"Impossible!" I declared.
"Rubbish!" she answered, "nothing is impossible. Besides, I ask it,"
"I do not know you well enough," I declared, helping myself to an
artichoke, "to be personal."
"The liberties you take in your thoughts," she answered, "I permit you to
render into speech. It is the same thing."
"One's thoughts," I answered, "are too phantasmagorial. One cannot
collect them into speech.
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