These tints of feeling indeed were doubtless but the iridescence of
his idleness, and they were presently lost in a new light from
Maria. She had a fresh fact for him before the week was out, and
she practically met him with it on his appearing one night. He hadn't
on this day seen her, but had planned presenting himself in due course
to ask her to dine with him somewhere out of doors, on one of the
terraces, in one of the gardens, of which the Paris of summer was
profuse. It had then come on to rain, so that, disconcerted, he changed
his mind; dining alone at home, a little stuffily and stupidly, and
waiting on her afterwards to make up his loss. He was sure within a
minute that something had happened; it was so in the air of the rich
little room that he had scarcely to name his thought. Softly lighted,
the whole colour of the place, with its vague values, was in cool
fusion--an effect that made the visitor stand for a little agaze. It
was as if in doing so now he had felt a recent presence--his recognition
of the passage of which his hostess in turn divined. She had scarcely
to say it--"Yes, she has been here, and this time I received her." It
wasn't till a minute later that she added: "There being, as I
understand you, no reason NOW--!"
"None for your refusing?"
"No--if you've done what you've had to do.
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