"No, don't get that flying look in
your eyes--I swear that I'll be good. It's a long time--it's a long time
since I've talked to any one who needed gentleness. If you knew what
need I had of it, you'd stay a little while, I think."
"Of course, I'll stay," she said. "I'd love to, if you want me to."
"I want you to more than I've ever wanted anything that I can remember."
His tone was so matter-of-fact that Daphne thought that she must have
imagined the words. "Now, can't we make ourselves comfortable for a
little while? I'd feel safer if you weren't standing there ready for
instant flight! Here's a nice bit of grass--and the wall for a back--"
Daphne glanced anxiously at the green muslin frock. "It's--it's pretty
hard to be comfortable without cushions," she submitted diffidently.
The man yielded again to laughter. "Are even Dryads afraid to spoil
their frocks? Cushions it shall be. There are some extra ones in the
chest in the East Indian room, aren't there?"
Daphne let the basket slip through her fingers, her eyes black through
sheer surprise.
"But how did you know--how did you know about the lacquer chest?" she
whispered breathlessly.
"'Oh, devil take me for a blundering ass!" He stood considering her
forlornly for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders, with the
brilliant and disarming smile.
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