Her eyes closed. “Don’t you know? I know, though you have never told me—said no word of it. I know that you love me just as surely as I love you, dear. I know, too, why you have not told. It’s because you saved my life, and because you think that if we went back to England and you married me you would ruin it.”
“I should not have let you know; I’ve not played the game,” said Pryce. “True? Why, it’s the only truth in my life. I love you, Hilda. I worship you. I adore you. I know now that I could never have let you go without telling you. But I know, too, that I am not even worthy to speak to you—to kiss the hem of your garment.”
“Come to me,” she murmured almost inaudibly, and swayed towards him.
They lay side by side now, his arms about her, his lips on hers. For a while neither spoke.
“Three more days,” he said at last. “Three more days in Paradise, dearest.”
“Not only three more days, but all our lives,” she whispered.
CHAPTER XII
“Hanson,” said Sir John Sweetling, “you are leaving to me all arrangements for the removal of Smith.”
“I am,” said Hanson. “In fact, I would sooner know nothing about it.”