Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. But I'm not worrying about that. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. “Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. ‘Both of them so wise after the event. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame.
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