"But, Rosemary—" said Mary.
"She's gone out to give Giles a kiss from his married aunt. I hoped you were lying down, and I told her not to disturb you."
He took her hand to lead her from the room, but Mary, moved by a sudden impulse, threw her arms round his neck. "James—my dear—I do love you so!" she told him.
James, surprised and pleased, stroked back her soft hair very tenderly. "Little thing," he said, "we've not done badly, have we, to love one another like this for so many years? If the young people are as happy as we are they won't have much to complain of." He would have liked to say more, but he never felt in the mood for making love so soon after lunch.
Mary, quite satisfied, let him take her upstairs and put her on the sofa. She made him sit down on it too, where she could play with his fingers, telling him that he ought to be glad, really, that she wasn't a fine big strapping wife who would want all the room on the sofa for herself.
James looked down on her affectionately. "I'm glad," he said, "that you're just exactly what you are! I wouldn't change a scrap of you." They both laughed.
Then Mary told him how silly she had been before he came in, how she had pictured Anthony led to destruction by sinuous ladies with raven locks. "They would have to be red-haired to tempt you, James," she added. "I don't believe you'd look at a temptress unless she had red hair!"
James bent towards her, his handsome face bright with affection. "Since I met you, little mother," he said, "I don't believe I've looked at another woman. Your hair is the only hair in the world for me!"
Then, as he gazed at her, Mary saw a change come over his face. His mouth fell open a little, his eyes left hers, he lifted his head. She could see that in that moment James had remembered something.
Tired and overstrung as she was she could not control the fantastic terror that shook her. "James," she cried, "tell me quickly—why did you look like that?"