"You have
thought and.... Tell me your thought, my Michael."
"Why, I think two things," said Lanyard: "First, that you deserve to be
soundly kissed." He kissed her, but with discretion, and firmly put her
from him. "Then"--his tone took on a note of earnestness--"that if what
you have said is true, it is a pity, and I am sorry, Liane, very sorry.
And, if it is not true, that the comedy was well played. Shall we let
it rest at that, my dear?"
Half lifting her, he helped her back into her chair, and as she turned
her face away, struggling for mastery of her emotion, true or feigned,
he sat back, found his cigarette case, and clipping a cigarette between
his lips, cast about for a match.
He had none in his pockets, but knew that there was a stand on one of
the wicker tables nearby. Rising, he found it, and as he struck the
light heard a sudden, soft swish of draperies as the woman rose.
Moving toward the saloon companionway, she passed him swiftly, without
a word, her head bended, a hand pressing a handkerchief to her lips.
Forgetful, he followed her swaying figure with puzzled gaze till
admonished by the flame that crept toward his fingertips.
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