"
She looked divinely pretty as she stood there in the
moonlight, with the fur-cloak sliding off her beautiful shoulders, the
gold embroidery on her dress shimmering around her, her childlike blue
eyes turned up fully at him.
He stood for a moment, rigid and still, but for the clenching
of his hand against the stone balustrade of the terrace.
"You desired my presence, Madame," he said frigidly. "I take
it that it was not with the view to indulging in tender
reminiscences."
His voice certainly was cold and uncompromising: his attitude
before her, stiff and unbending. Womanly decorum would have suggested
Marguerite should return coldness for coldness, and should sweep past
him without another word, only with a curt nod of her head: but
womanly instinct suggested that she should remain--that keen instinct,
which makes a beautiful woman conscious of her powers long to bring to
her knees the one man who pays her no homage. She stretched out her
hand to him.
"Nay, Sir Percy, why not? the present is not so glorious but
that I should not wish to dwell a little in the past."
He bent his tall figure, and taking hold of the extreme tip of
the fingers which she still held out to him, he kissed them
ceremoniously.
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