"It was nothing," I
replied. "The truth is, it was pleasant to have you here beside me."
I laughed at my own folly. "Starling, I will put you in man's dress
to-morrow!" I cried.
He turned away. "As you like, monsieur. I think myself it would be
best. Will you get out the clothes to-night?"
But I stared at him. "Why blush about it, Starling?" I shrugged. I
felt some disdain of his sensitiveness. "I did not mean to twit you.
I understand that you have worn the squaw's dress to help us. But I
think that the necessity for disguise is past. I see the skirts
embarrass you."
He turned to look at me fairly. "I am not blushing, monsieur," he
explained, with a great air of candor. "It is the heat of the
afternoon;" but even as he spoke the red flowed from chin to forehead,
and when I looked at him with another laugh, his eyes fell before mine.
I rose on my elbow. "Starling! Starling!" I cried. He made no sound.
His head drooped, and I saw him clench his hand. I stared. He threw
his head back, but when he tried to meet my look he failed. Yet I
looked again. "My God!" I heard my voice say, and my teeth bit into my
lip. I could smell the flowers in my hand, but they seemed a long
distance away.
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