“What?” he said, looking down at her where she stood, for he had risen preparatory to taking his leave. “To remain where I am? What do you mean, Nidia?”
“I mean that you can’t go, and I don’t intend that you shall. Heavens, what do you want to go getting yourself killed for? Wasn’t it bad enough when you nearly did—when I—when we—all thought you were? You have got to stay here and take care of me.”
What was this? Nidia’s self-possession breaking down so signally? Were his eyes and ears utterly deceiving him? There was what sounded suspiciously like the catch of a sob in her voice, and in her eyes that same look of appeal, of wistfulness, he had seen there when they bade each other that last farewell in the wilds of the Matopos. His face flushed beneath its bronze, then went white; but his voice was firm as ever as he imprisoned her with his arms.
“To take care of you? Then I must do so for life, Nidia.”
“Yes; I think you had better, as you know how to do it so well,” she replied, raising her lips.
It was their first kiss; but it was even as the welding of two souls. It was their first kiss, but for a very brief space the only one. With no further necessity for self-containment, John Ames seemed to pour forth his whole soul, his whole nature, in adoration of this girl, the first sight of whom had turned the whole current of his thoughts and inner life. All of this Nidia learned, and was infinitely, radiantly happy.
“Shall I tell you something—darling?” she said. “Strange as it may sound, I have never loved anybody before—have never felt the slightest inclination to. But when I saw you, I knew the possibility was there. You were—are—so different to everybody else. I missed you so frightfully when you left to come up here. There, I never told you that before. And all the time we were out together in the mountains I loved being with you—felt so safe with you, somehow, and—Oh!”
The last ejaculation was evoked by the appearance of a third party on the scene. In the doorway stood Mrs Bateman, speechless, her high-featured countenance livid with amazement, rage, and baffled spite.
“Come here, Susie, and say, ‘Bless you, my children,’” called out Nidia, a lovely blush coming over her face, as she realised the very near propinquity in which she stood to the other occupant of the room, who, for his part, said nothing.
But there came no answer. The other turned and walked away in silence. She had thrown her king and her ace, but the odd trick remained, and this John Ames held.