“Yes, I have always remembered,” I said, and found myself remembering other things, too, vividly: the way his words had moved me, the way my lids had fallen under his strong glance.
“And you are still Miss Saurin? Deirdre Saurin?”
It would be impossible to describe the beauty and gentleness of his voice as he so unexpectedly spoke my name. It sounded almost as if he were blessing me.
“You did not many Herriott after all? But you could not have, or he would be here. No man who married you would ever leave your side.”
That was ridiculous, of course. I felt it was ridiculous, but he said it so convincingly that I almost believed it. In fact, I was obliged to recognise that this man was very convincing indeed. You could not treat his remarks with the indifference they deserved, even if you wanted to. However, there was one thing I felt I ought to make clear to him, though it was rather embarrassing to say these things.
“I think as you know so much,” I stammered, “you ought to know a little more. I was never engaged to Lord Herriott.”
“But I was told by two different people that night, both relatives of his, that you were engaged; that the announcement was to be made immediately.”
“They had no right to say so,” I said firmly. “We were never engaged.”
“Will you tell me that he never asked you to marry him?”
“I cannot tell you more than I have,” I answered rather stiffly.