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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Tempting of Tavernake"

"
She looked at him for a moment and then she laughed. Tavernake
felt a sense of relief; at least she was not angry.
"Oh, you strangest of mortals!" she exclaimed, holding out her
hands. "Well, you see me--in one of my most becoming gowns, too.
What do you think of the fit?"
She swept round and faced him again with an expectant look.
Tavernake, who knew nothing of women's fashions, still realized
the superbness of that one unbroken line.
"I can't think how you can move a step in it," he said, "but you
look--"
He paused. It was as though he had lost his breath. Then he set
his teeth and finished.
"You look beautiful," he declared. "I suppose you know that. I
suppose they've all been telling you so."
She shook her head.
"They haven't all your courage, dear Briton," she remarked, "and
if they did tell me so, I am not sure that I should be convinced.
You see, most of my friends have lived so long and lived so
quickly that they have learned to play with words until one never
knows whether the things they speak come from their hearts. With
you it is different."
"Yes," Tavernake admitted, "with me it is different!"
She glanced at the clock.
"Well," she said, "you have seen me and I am glad to have seen
you, and you may kiss my fingers if you like, and then you must
run away. I am engaged to have supper with my friends
downstairs."
He raised her fingers clumsily enough to his lips and kept them
there for a moment.


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