To have collided with the Irish girl would have been simple and agreeable; but in the very act of willing it he also inhibited the length of his stride over the brass sill.
“Oh!” she said, smiling.
“I’m so sorry!” said Demarest, drawing back. He regarded her with friendly inquisition.
Lowering her soft flushed face, she passed him, close against the white wooden paneling, the smile gently dying. Innocent gray eyes: not without humor and boldness. My wild Oirish Rose. When I look into your eyes — Then I think of Irish skies … Anita’s favorite song — he used to sing it in the shower bath. Sure as you’re born, top of the morn …! “Come — come — come—” said her slippers on the red carpet, as she turned away to the right. “No — too — shy, — ” his own feet whispered, stammering and inarticulate, as he turned away to the left.