"If I've made you a king, lad, you mustn't kiss my hand."
Anthony took her in his arms and looked into her eyes.
"I was wrong," he said, smiling. "You didn't step out of your fairy tale. You never left it. You've just invited me in."
Valerie put up her mouth.
* * * * *
Nineteen days had slipped by—careless, halcyon days, the matchless morning of a golden festival.
Jack and Jill were beyond imagination happy.
Lyveden had been prevailed upon to stay in Hampshire, and when he must visit London, to return the same night. I am not certain that these days were not the best of all. Valerie saw him off in the morning: the two had all day to think upon their state; his home-coming at even delivered a perfect reverie.
The last of these flying visits must be recorded, for it was unlike its fellows, and, though I cannot answer for Lyveden, Valerie will remember it always.
There is no doubt at all that Anthony was growing quite accustomed to the liberal atmosphere of Lincoln's Inn Fields. As he bent his steps westward, he found the huge square admirable. For comfortable dignity, no other square he could remember compared with it. This, he decided, was because its sides were not too high for its area. London, as a whole, had grown up. Had she grown outward instead, perhaps… He remembered suddenly that she had grown outward as well—out of all conscience, since Pepys had taken pleasure in Lincoln's Inn Fields. With a contented sigh Lyveden reflected that by nine-thirty that evening he would be back at Bell Hammer. The sweet smell of the country, the song of the wind in tree-tops—above all, the abundance of cool soft air, seemed to have become essential to his life. For the present, at any rate, he had no use for Town. It choked him. He was glad, however, that his solicitor's office was in Lincoln's Inn Fields….