Unless," he said, with an
attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the
recollection of her eyes made difficult, "it is a question of--er--the
affections?"
"Which?" said his fair client, softly.
"If you still love him?" explained the Colonel, actually blushing.
Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with
eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had
_said_, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added
subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. "That's tellin'," she
said, dropping her long lashes again. The Colonel laughed vacantly.
Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak
gravity. "Pardon me--I understand there are no letters; may I know the
way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?"
"Hymn-books," said the girl, briefly.
"I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer.
"Hymn-books--marked words in them with pencil--and passed 'em on to
me," repeated Zaidee. "Like 'love,' 'dear,' 'precious,' 'sweet,' and
'blessed,'" she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol
on the carpet.
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