toy. She certainly kept it by her all the
evening and admired herself therein unashamedly like the traditional
Lady from the Sea. Once, desiring to show me the ravishing beauty of a
turquoise pendant, she bent her neck forward, as I sat, so as to come
within reach of my nearsighted eyes (it is a superstition of hers that
I am nearly blind without my glasses), and quite naturally slid onto
my knee. She has the warm russet complexion that suits her heavy bronze
hair, and there is a glow beneath the satin of her neck and arms. And
she is fragrant--I recognise it now--of hyacinths. The world can hold
nothing more alluring to the senses of man. My fingers that held
the turquoise trembled as they chanced to touch her--but she was all
unconcerned. Nay, further--she gazed into the mirror--

"It makes me look so white--oh, there was a girl at Bude who had a gold
locket--and it lay upon her bones--you could count them. I am glad I
have no bones. I am quite soft--feel."

She clasped my fingers and pressed their tips into the firm young flesh
below her throat.

"Yes," said I, with some huskiness in my voice, "your turquoise can
sleep there very pleasantly. See, I will kiss it to bring you good
luck."

She cooed with pleasure. "I don't think any one kissed the locket of the
girl at Bude. She was too thin. And too old; she must have been thirty!
Now," she added, lifting up the locket, "you will kiss the place, too,
where it is to lie."

I looked for a moment into her eyes. Seeing me hesitate, they grew
pathetic.

"Oh-h," she said, reproachfully.

I know I am a fool. I know that Pasquale would have hurled his sarcasms
at me. I know that the whole of her deliciousness was mine for the
taking--mine for ever and ever. If I had loved her less passionately
I would have kissed her young throat lightly with a jest. But to have
kissed her thus with such longing as mine behind my lips would have been
an outrage.

I lifted her to her feet, and rose and turned away, laughing unsteadily.

"No, my dear," said I, "that would be--unsuitable."

The bathos of the word made me laugh louder. Carlotta, aware that a joke
was in the air, joined in my mirth, and her laughter rang fresh.

"What is the suitable way of kissing?"

I took her hand and saluted it in an eighteenth century manner.

"This," said I.

"Oh-h," said Carlotta. "That is so dull." She caught up Polyphemus and
buried her face in his fur. "That's the way I should like to b