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She
looked
up
impatiently
.
"
Oh
,
Amory
,
of
course
you
could
n't
help
it
,
and
it
did
n't
hurt
much
;
but
what
are
we
going
to
do
about
it
?
"
"
Do
about
it
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Oh
--
that
spot
;
it
'll
disappear
in
a
second
.
"
"
It
is
n't
,
"
she
said
,
after
a
moment
of
concentrated
gazing
,
"
it
's
still
there
--
and
it
looks
like
Old
Nick
--
oh
,
Amory
,
what
'll
we
do
!
It
's
just
the
height
of
your
shoulder
.
"
"
Massage
it
,
"
he
suggested
,
repressing
the
faintest
inclination
to
laugh
.
She
rubbed
it
delicately
with
the
tips
of
her
fingers
,
and
then
a
tear
gathered
in
the
corner
of
her
eye
,
and
slid
down
her
cheek
.
"
Oh
,
Amory
,
"
she
said
despairingly
,
lifting
up
a
most
pathetic
face
,
"
I
'll
just
make
my
whole
neck
flame
if
I
rub
it
.
What
'll
I
do
?
"
A
quotation
sailed
into
his
head
and
he
could
n't
resist
repeating
it
aloud
.
"
All
the
perfumes
of
Arabia
will
not
whiten
this
little
hand
.
"
She
looked
up
and
the
sparkle
of
the
tear
in
her
eye
was
like
ice
.
