Maurice came in, forage-cap in hand, riding-crop tucked under his arm, and stood by me in the place where six months before he had cowered, and I had spurned him with my foot. What a different man was this! Pride and élan in his gait, and in the old enchanting smile upon his lips real chivalry at last. I felt my heart stir strangely, as very deliberately I put out both my hands to him. He took them, kissed them, and lightly let them fall again.
“Well! Expect us back in about a week, Deirdre. I shall not fail.”
I stood looking at him with my lids drooped a little to hide my eyes. Why had he let my hands fall so quickly? My first effort had gone astray.
“No, you will not fail, Maurice. You and the word ‘failure’ are never going to have anything to say to each other again. I am glad now that you are going alone, and will have all the honour and glory of it to yourself. I want people in this country to appreciate your courage before we leave it.”
I thought of Dr Abingdon, and the other man on the Salisbury road. It was odd what a thrill of pride I felt that all the world would soon know that whatever had happened in the past, in the future none might ever again call this man coward.
“Leave it?” he said. “You still hold to that plan?”
“Of course.” I looked at him in surprise. “Is it not all settled? Didn’t you speak to your chief about it on the wire this morning as you said you would?”
“No—I thought it had better wait over—until I came back you know.”
“You should have done it at once, Maurice. I wanted to begin to do things—sorting, packing, arranging what we are going to take with us. The delay about your resignation will keep us here months longer perhaps. Will you let me write it for you and send it in while you’re away?”
“Oh! all right then,” but his tone was still hesitating. I turned on him reproachfully. It seemed hard to have to be firm for him as well as myself.