You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. I love the soles of your feet. I know how bad it feels. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Through it all Spurlock maintained a gaiety which deceived them completely. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word.
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