“Frightened?” he said. “Oh, Stella, not of me, not of the real me?”
She gave a little laugh, still mysteriously nervous.
“You were a stranger,” she said. “I never saw you before.”
Martin gave a great, happy sigh.
“You are quite right,” he said, and the authentic fire leaped to and fro between their eyes. “I was never this before. But you are not frightened now?”
This time her eyes did not waver from his.
“No, Martin,” she said.
But there was no more privacy possible here. Stella had been quite right; there was a party going on, and at the moment a great burst of applause signified the end of Karl Rusoff’s performance. Stella started.
“There. I told you so,” she said. “Now take me to my mother; she will be waiting for me.”
Martin frowned.