"This time you're really crying," he whispered. Stooping he pressed her lips. "They always told me you never——"
Freeing her arms, she clasped him tightly about the neck. He could feel the weight of her body,
dragging his face lower. She kissed him passionately, stopping his breath, as though she would breathe into him her very soul. "Oh, my dearest—my very dear! How cruel you were! You made me ask you. I thought I'd never get you."
The door was opening. Terry was watching them. The first they knew of her presence was when she spoke.
"You came to see me."
They broke apart like shameful children and stood regarding her, their hands just touching. She seemed their elder.
"I suppose you have the right to jeer at me," she continued slowly. "I'm left out. I was too cold. I'm too late. I didn't want what was offered at the time it was offered. What I didn't want once, I can't have now. And, perhaps, I still don't want it. Tabs used to speak of kingdoms. I never knew what he meant. You've all found yours—Maisie, Braithwaite, both of you and even Ann. Everybody, except me." She laughed to prevent her tears from falling. "I suppose Tabs would tell me that mine's still round the corner. You would, wouldn't you, Tabs?"
Her need, which had been theirs, penetrated their happiness. They felt again the old wild pang of neglected loneliness. Sargent's painting above the mantelpiece, looking down on them, reminded Lady Dawn of her own forgotten tragedy. It was unendurable that their gladness should bring sorrow to Terry. With a common instinct they went towards
her. Lady Dawn placed her arms about her. It was Tabs who spoke.
"Little Terry, you're not left out. You're ours more than ever. We've not robbed you. We couldn't. Of you alone it's true that everything lies before you. All the time you've had your kingdom, though you didn't know it. You still have it—the Kingdom of Youth, for which we older people were all searching."