Isla laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders. She was feeling so warm and comforted and happy that she wished the hour to last for ever.
"How kind of you to think of this room! As I was dressing I thought how horrid it would be in the restaurant to-night."
"I knew it would be. I grudged it. This was the thing," he said.
And his pulses thrilled as he thought of all the days that were coming when they should dine together alone.
It came to an end at last, and Rosmead showed haste in getting the table cleared and the coffee-tray brought in.
Then he wheeled a big easy chair towards the fire for her, and he himself stood against the end of the mantel-shelf, while an odd silence fell between them.
"I am sure you want to smoke. I should like it," she said a little nervously, fearing what she saw in his eyes.
He shook his head.
"That would be desecration. By and by, perhaps, but not yet. I wonder if you know just what it meant to me to see you to-night downstairs, just what it means to have you here like this, alone?"
She made no answer, and the veil dropped over her eyes, but her lips trembled, and she worked with her fingers in the fringes of the delicate white scarf which had fallen from her shoulders across her arms.