The cab bowled slowly along through the circuitous park roads.
“I’ll tell him to take his time,” De Medici whispered. “The air will do you good.”
He looked at the girl beside him. Tenderness lighted his face.
“There’s really nothing to worry about any more, Florence. Your mother will have excellent care where she is. Dr. Lytton wrote me that he’s taken personal charge of the case and that she’s as happy as anyone could expect.”
Florence nodded. Her hand took his.
“You’ve been wonderful,” she said. “And more than anything else, I admire your reticence. It’s a week—and you haven’t asked me any questions yet.”
“I’ve been waiting,” he said. “And rejoicing in my own way. There’s no hurry for the epilogue. And anyway ... I prefer this.”
He raised her hand and kissed it.
“I’d like to go somewhere and talk,” she said at length. “The cab’s a bit inconvenient. And I’m tired.”
De Medici yielded the point with a minor protest.