slightly.

Then and there, in the solemn presence of those emotionless eggs, I
placed my arm around her supple waist and kissed her.

She said nothing. Presently she stooped to observe the thermometer.
Naturally, it registered 95° Fahrenheit.

"Susanne," I said, softly.

"Oh, we must go up-stairs," she whispered, breathlessly; and, picking
up her silken skirts, she fled up the cellar-stairs.

I turned out the gas, with that instinct of economy which early
wastefulness has implanted in me, and followed the Countess Suzanne
through the suite of rooms and into the small reception-hall where she
had first received me.

She was sitting on a low divan, head bent, slowly turning a sapphire
ring on her finger, round and round.

I looked at her romantically, and then--

"Please don't," she said.

The correct reply to this is:

"Why not?"--very tenderly spoken.

"Because," she replied, which was also the correct and regular answer.