Being a clever
Frenchwoman she felt drama and all its subtle accompaniments.
"Is that why----" she began.
"It is," answered Dowson, stoutly. "A kiss isn't an ordinary thing
to her. It means something wonderful. She's got into the way of
loving me, bless her, and every now and then, it's my opinion,
she suddenly remembers her lonely days when she didn't know what
love was. And it just wells up in her little heart and she wants
to kiss me. She always says it that way, 'Dowie, I want to KISS
you,' as if it was something strange and, so to say, sacred. She
doesn't know it means almost nothing to most people. That's why
I always lay down my work and hug her close."
"You have a good heart--a GOOD one!" said Mademoiselle with strong
feeling.
Then she put a question:
"Who was the little boy?"
"He was a relation of--his lordship's."
"His lordship's?" cautiously.
"The Marquis. Lord Coombe."
There was a few minutes' silence. Both women were thinking of a
number of things and each was asking herself how much it would be
wise to say.
It was Dowson who made her decision first, and this time, as
before, she laid down her work. What she had to convey was the
thing which, above all others, the Frenchwoman must understand if
she was to be able to use her power to its best effect.
"A woman in my place hears enough talk," was her beginning.
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