If any
privileged cynic had taken the chance to ask him whether
he found her eyes expressive of purely abstract
significance, Kendal would have answered affirmatively
in all honesty. And he would have added a confession of
his curiosity to discover what she was capable of, if
she was capable of anything--which he considered legitimate
enough. At the moment, however, he had no time to think
of anything but an inducement, and he dashed through
whole pickets of scruples to find one. "They give one
such capital strawberry ices at Baliero's," he begged
her to believe. His resolutions did not even reassert
themselves when she refused. He was conscious only that
it was a bore that she should refuse, and very inconsistent;
hadn't she often dined with him at the Cafe Florian? His
gratification was considerable when she added, "They
smoke there, you know," and, it became obvious, by whatever
curious process of reasoning she arrived at it, that it
was Baliero's restaurant she objected to, and not his
society.
"Well," he urged, "there are plenty of places where they
don't smoke, though it didn't occur to me that--"
"Oh," she laughed; "but you must allow it to occur to
you," and she put her finger on her lip.
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