She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her knee, smiling faintly.
"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered garment. "Do you think it will fit?"
"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed.
"And," I persisted, "are you perfectly sure that you—er—we shall need it?"
"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate colour touched her cheeks and neck. She held up the little garment, all fluffy with misty lace and wrought with quaint embroidery. " It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest. May I smoke a pipe?"
"Of course," she said, selecting a skein of pale blue silk.
For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers among the tinted silks and thread of gold.
Presently she spoke: "What did you say your crest is, Dick?"
"My crest? Oh, something or other rampant on a something or other"
"Dick!"
"Dearest?"
"Don't be flippant."
"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has them. No family should be without 'em."
