He felt that they
understood each other deeply.
"You'll find some cigarettes in that box," she said, when he had been
there thirty minutes, and pointed to the mantelpiece.
"Sure you don't mind?" he murmured.
She raised her eyebrows.
There was also a silver match-box in the larger box. No detail lacked.
It seemed to him that he stood on a mountain and had only to walk down a
winding path in order to enter the promised land. He was decidedly
pleased with the worldly way in which he had said: "Sure you don't
mind?"
He puffed out smoke delicately. And, the cigarette between his lips, as
with his left hand he waved the match into extinction, he demanded:
"You smoke?"
"Yes," she said, "but not in public. I know what you men are."
This was in the early, timid days of feminine smoking.
"I assure you!" he protested, and pushed the box towards her. But she
would not smoke.
"It isn't that I mind _you_," she said, "not at all. But I'm not
well. I've got a frightful headache."
He put on a concerned expression.
"I _thought_ you looked rather pale," he said awkwardly.
"Pale!" she repeated the word. "You should have seen me this morning: I
have fits of dizziness, you know, too.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88