loosened, becomingly tanned, and entirely captivating in her
thoughtfully arranged disarray.

"Why, Duane!" she exclaimed, offering both her hands with that
impulsively unstudied gesture she carefully cultivated for such
occasions.

He took them; he always took what women offered.

"This is very jolly," he said, retaining the hands and examining her
with unfeigned admiration. "Tell me, Mrs. Dysart, are you by any
fortunate chance as good as you are ornamental?"

"I heard you ask that of the maid around the corner," said Rosalie
coolly. "Don't let the bucolic go to your head, Mr. Mallett." And she
disengaged her hands, crossed them behind her, and smiled back at him.
It was his punishment. Her hands were very pretty hands, and well worth
holding.

"That maid," he said gravely, "has excellent manners. I merely
complimented her upon them.... What else did you--ah--hear, Mrs.
Dysart?"

"What one might expect to hear wherever you are concerned. I don't
mind. The things you do rather gracefully seem only offensive when other
men do them.... Have you just arrived?"

"An hour ago. Did you know I was coming?"

"Geraldine mentioned it to everybody, but I don't think anybody swooned