CHAPTER XIII
Martin was seated alone with Stella in the drawing-room of her mother’s house, eating muffins, thoughtfully but rather rapidly, while she poured out tea.
“Fancy,” he said, “it is only a week ago since—since the party at Lady Sunningdale’s, since I knew.”
“Knew what?” asked Stella, quite unnecessarily.
“Ah, I only know one thing now. I think I have forgotten everything else.”
“Say it then,” said she.
“That I love you? Are you not tired of hearing me say that yet?”
She smiled, brought him his tea, and sat on the arm of his chair.
“I can’t believe that a woman can ever be tired of hearing that, if the right man says it. Oh, Martin, how lucky it was you, and that it was I!”
Martin put his teacup down, having drunk with amazing speed.