With a quick action he laid his pipe upon the table; sprang to her
side. His right arm he put about her, in his left hand he clasped both
hers. "Nothing wrong," he cried brightly; "not a bit wrong. Mary, it's
a game, a plot, a dickens of a game."
"Well, tell me," she said, beaming.
"It wants your help."
"Well, tell me, tell me, stupid."
"You will help?"
"Of course, if I can. Oh, do tell me, Georgie!"
"I'll show you, that's quicker."
He sprang to the basket; unstrapped the lid; threw it back. A most
exquisite orange head upreared. A queenly back arched. A beautiful
figure stepped forth.
"_George!_" Mary cried. "George! _The Rose!_ You've found her!"
George gave a nervous little crack of laughter. "I never lost her."
"Never lost her! No, but she's been--"
"I've had her all the time!"
"_All the_--"
"I took her!"
"You _took_ her! _You_--took her! Oh, George, speak sense! Whatever
can you mean?" Mary had jumped to her feet when first the Rose stepped
forth; now was close to her George--face a little white, perplexed;
hands clasped.
He cried: "Sweetest dove of a Mary, don't talk like that. Sit down and
I'll tell you."
"But what have you done?--what have you _done?_"
The true woman was in that question. How they jostle us, these women,
with their timid little flutterings when we are trying to put a case
before them in our manlike way!--first spoiling their palate with all
the sugar, so that they may not taste the powder.
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