"I have the most absurd feeling
for you that any man ever found it impossible to put into words.
We have indeed strayed outside the world of natural things," he
added.
"Why?" she murmured. "I never felt more natural or normal in my
life. I can assure you that I am loving it. I feel like muslin
gowns and primroses and the scent of those first March violets
underneath a warm hedge where the sun comes sometimes. I feel
very natural indeed, Sir Timothy."
"What about me?" he asked harshly. "In three weeks' time I shall
be fifty years old."
She laughed softly.
"And in no time at all I shall be thirty--and entering upon a
terrible period of spinsterhood!"
"Spinsterhood!" he scoffed. "Why, whenever the Society papers
are at a loss for a paragraph, they report a few more offers of
marriage to the ever-beautiful Lady Cynthia."
"Don't be sarcastic," she begged. "I haven't yet had the offer
of marriage I want, anyhow."
"You'll get one you don't want in a moment," he warned her.
She made a little grimace.
"Don't!" she laughed nervously. "How am I to preserve my
romantic notions of you as the emperor of the criminal world, if
you kiss me as you did just now--you kissed me rather well--and
then ask me to marry you? It isn't your role. You must light a
cigarette now, pat the back of my hand, and swagger off to
another of your haunts of vice.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239