"Gad, that puts fat on the bones, and gives the gay heart!" he said.
"Doesn't it, though?"
She laughed quietly. Her nature was warm, and she had the animal-like
fondness for physical ease and content.
"It's as if there wasn't another stroke of work to do in the world," she
answered, and sat contentedly back in her chair, the strawberries in her
lap. Her fingers, stained with red, lay beside the bowl. All the
strings of conscious duty were loose, and some of them were flying. The
bumble-bee that flew in at the door and boomed about the room contributed
to the day-dream.
She never quite knew how it happened that a moment later he was bending
over the back of her chair, with her face upturned to his, and his lips--
With that touch thrilling her, she sprang to her feet, and turned away
from him towards the table. Her face was glowing like a peony, and a
troubled light came into her eyes. He came over to her, after a moment,
and spoke over her shoulders as he just touched her waist with his
fingers.
"A la bonne heure--Sophie!"
"Oh, it isn't--it isn't right," she said, her body slightly inclining
from him.
"One minute out of a whole life--What does it matter! Ce ne fait rien!
Good-bye-Sophie.
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