"
"Wait till you're well, my dear," said she. "I'm afraid I'll
not be very sympathetic with your seriousness."
"No--today. I'm not an invalid. And our relations worry me,
whenever I think of them."
He observed her as she sat with hands loosely clasped in her
lap; there was an inscrutable look upon her delicate face,
upon the clear-cut features so attractively framed by her
thick dark hair, brown in some lights, black in others.
"Well?" said she.
"To begin, I want you to stop rouging your lips. It's the
only sign of--of what you were. I'd a little rather you
didn't smoke. But as respectable women smoke nowadays, why I
don't seriously object. And when you get more clothes, get
quieter ones. Not that you dress loudly or in bad taste----"
"Thank you," murmured Susan.
"What did you say?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt. Go on."
"I admire the way you dress, but it makes me jealous. I want
you to have nice clothes for the house. I like things that
show your neck and suggest your form. But I don't want you
attracting men's eyes and their loose thoughts, in the
street. . . . And I don't want you to look so damnably alluring
about the feet. That's your best trick--and your worst. Why
are you smiling--in that fashion?"
"You talk to me as if I were your wife."
He gazed at her with an expression that was as affectionate as
it was generous--and it was most generous.
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