Page:Restless Earth.djvu/44

At the end of a wonderful hour Patricia sat up, stretched her arms to remove a slight cramp in them, reached for the hat which she had discarded, and, with constant reference to the small mirror attached to the flap of her handbag, drew it over the gleaming hair which she contrived to pat into some order.

The clear-cut lines of her face seemed softened, and unwonted colour heightened her beauty. She sighed happily.

“Having decided to postpone my departure from your charming town, Mr. Harley,” she said lightly, “it behoves me to look into the modiste’s business, which, of late, I have somewhat neglected.”

James Harley, lying stretched at full length upon the sand, his head pillowed upon his folded hands, looked lazily at her lithe, stooping back with indulgent amusement.

“Having languished so long, the business will stand another brief hour of neglect, surely?” he protested.

“It’s not so much the business as my conscience, Jimmy. I haven’t earned my salary for a month past; and I feel sure the girls are chafing under the strain. Besides, I feel in the mood to design things—evening ensembles and things like that. My fancy has become exuberant and the world a wonderful place to play in. I feel clever, silly, and joyful. That’s the sort of fool I am!”

“I understand. I feel inspired, too.”

“To write a real love story?” she asked, glancing at him mischievously.

“No, to lie here and enjoy myself.”

“Lazy!”

“Pat, you look wonderful to-day. Green suits you.”

“Perhaps. But this dress is blue.”

“Is it? So it is. Must be the light which gives it that green tinge. Doesn’t crease easily—that’s one