"For you," she said, twirling the blossom between her fingers and
gliding toward him with her tigerish step.
He spoke no word, but, face flushed, sought to look into her eyes
as she pinned the orchid in the button-hole of his coat. Her
hands were flawless in shape and colouring, being beautiful as
the sculptured hands preserved in the works of Phidias.
The slight draught occasioned by the opening of the door caused
the smoke from the incense-burner to be wafted toward the centre
of the room. Like a blue-gray phantom it coiled about the two
standing there upon a red and gold Bedouin rug, and the heavy
perfume, or the close proximity of this singularly lovely woman,
wrought upon the high-strung sensibilities of Deacon to such an
extent that he was conscious of a growing faintness.
"Ah! You are not well!" exclaimed Madame with deep concern. "It
is the perfume which that foolish Ah Li has lighted. He forgets
that we are in England."
"Not at all," protested Deacon faintly, and conscious that he was
making a fool of himself. "I think I have perhaps been overdoing
it rather of late. Forgive me if I sit down."
He sank on the cushioned divan, his heart beating furiously,
while Madame touched the little bell, whereupon one of the
servants entered.
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