"
"That was before you were ill."
"I don't see any logic in that remark." He lay looking at her. Then
suddenly he put out an arm, pulled her down to him feebly, and kissed
her. But the movement hurt him. He turned away with some broken
words--or, rather, moans--stifled against his pillows.
"Dear, do lie still. Shall I read to you?"
He shook his head.
"Don't stay with me. I shall be better after dinner."
She rose obediently, touched him caressingly with her hand, drew a light
shawl over him, and stole away.
* * * * *
When she reached her own room she stood a moment, frowning and absorbed;
beside the open window. Then some one knocked at her door. It was her
maid, who came in carrying a large light box.
Alicia flew toward her.
"From Cosette! Heavens! Oh, Benson, quick! Put it down. I'll help you."
The maid obeyed, and ran to the dressing-table for scissors. Cords and
tapes were soon cut in the hurry of unpacking, and from the crackling
tissue-paper there emerged an evening gown of some fresh snowy stuff,
delicately painted and embroidered, which drew from the maid little
shrieks of admiration.
Pages:
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632