With the chain in his hand, he looked at her.
“I know every woman does it,” he said gently, “but they don’t all do it like you.”
Audrey said nothing at all.
In silence they passed up the avenue. . . .
So they came to an archway with a coat of arms cut in the grey stone. This admitted to a courtyard, silent and sunlit.
For a moment they stood gazing. Then a touch on his arm made Christopher John look round.
A grave-eyed maiden was looking him in the face.
“I beg your pardon,” she said in a low voice. “I had no right. It was very”—her eyes fell, and she blushed exquisitely—“very rotten of me to take it out upon you.”
She was in his arms, and his face three inches away.
“Audrey, my sweet, my darling. . . .”