Clephane," he ended.
"Aren't you afraid you'll make me vain?" she asked.
"It can't be done," he averred. "You simply can't be spoiled; you're much
too sensible."
"La! la!" she trilled. "What a paragon of--"
--"everything," he adjected.
"Everything that I must be, if you so wish it."
"Just so!" he replied.
"Aren't you afraid of a paragon, Mr. Harleston?"
"Generally, yes; specifically, no."
"La! la!" she trilled again. "You're becoming mystic; which means
mysterious, which means diplomatic, which means deception--which warns
us to get back to the simple life and have dinner. Want dinner, Mr.
Harleston?"
"With you, yes; also breakfast and luncheon daily."
"You couldn't do that unless you were my husband," she replied
tantalizingly and adorably.
"I'm perfectly aware of it," he responded, leaning forward over the
back of the chair that separated them.
"But I'm not ready to take a husband, monsieur," she protested lightly.
"I'm perfectly aware of that also. When you are ready, madame, I am
ready too. Until then I'm your good friend--and dinner companion."
He had spoken jestingly--yet the jest was mainly pretence; the real
passion was there and ready the instant he let it control. As for Mrs.
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