The clock struck and Martin looked up.
“Gracious, I am late,” he said. “Karl was to give me a lesson at six. You must say good-bye to me next, Lady Sunningdale.”
Stella got up, too.
“I’ll see you safely out of the house,” she said, and left the room with him. Then, having closed the door, she paused, taking hold of the lappel of his coat.
“Martin, you’re not vexed with me?” she asked.
“No; why? I thought you were vexed with me.”
“No, dear. I was vexed with myself, I think, and so I was horrid to you. But, my dearest, give me all you can of yourself. I want so much, just because it is you!”
Martin’s eyes kindled and glowed.
“It is all yours,” he said. “You know that. I wish there was more of it. And there is more since—since a week ago.”
“Then I am content,” she said, “and that means a great deal. I think I was rather jealous of pianos generally. And you forgive me? Yes?”