She was wearing a light-blue morning-gown, her arms bare to the elbows, and a wide Leghorn hat--the morning costume of all others he liked her best in.
"No--don't think I am," she answered lightly.

"Fact is I was getting pretty tired of you.

How long will you be gone ?" "Oh, I think till the end of the week--not longer." He reached over the chair and was about to play with the tiny curls that lay under the coil of her hair, when he checked himself and straightened up.

One of those sudden restraints which had so puzzled Lucy had seized him.

She could not see his face, but she knew from the tones of his voice that the enthusiasm of the moment had cooled.
Lucy shifted her chair, lifted her head, and looked up into his eyes.
She was always entrancing from this point of view: the upturned eyelashes, round of the cheeks, and the line of the throat and swelling shoulders were like no other woman's he knew.
"I don't want you to go, Max," she said in the same coaxing tone of voice that Ellen might have used in begging for sugar-plums.