"
"Because they get daffy over me is no excuse for stupid execution of the
business in hand," she shrugged. "_You_ never have been guilty of
stupidity, Marston."
"Because I've managed never to be a fool about you--however much I have
been tempted to become one."
"Have been, Marston?" she inflected.
"Have been--and _am_," he bowed. "I'm not different from the
rest--only--"
She curled herself on a divan, and languidly stretched her slender
rounded arms behind the raven hair.
"Only what, Marston?" she murmured.
"Only I know when the game is beyond me."
"So, to you, I'm a game?"
"Of an impossible sort," he replied. "I admire at a distance--and keep
my head."
"And your heart, too, _mon ami_?"
"My heart is the servant of my head. When it ceases so to be, I shall
ask to be detached from the Paris station."
"Are you satisfied with your present assignment?"
"Much more than satisfied; very much more than satisfied."
She held out her hand to him, and smiled ravishingly.
"We understand each other now, Marston," she said simply; which tied
Marston only the tighter to her--as she well knew. And Marston knew it,
too. Also he knew that he had not the shade of a chance with her--and
that she knew that he knew it.
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