“There was a time when I believed that you had,” he reminded her. “I didn't behave like a pedagogic upholder of the letter of the law then, did I?”
She drew closer to him.
“You were wonderful,” she whispered.
“Dearest, your father has nothing to fear from me,” he assured her tenderly. “On the contrary, I think that I can show him the way to safety.”
She rose impulsively to her feet.
“He will be here directly,” she said. “He promised to come across at half-past twelve. Let us go and meet him. But, Francis—”
For a single moment she crept into his arms. Their lips met, her eyes shone into his. He held her away from him a moment later. The change was amazing. She was no longer a tired woman. She had become a girl again. Her eyes were soft with happiness, the little lines had gone from about her mouth, she walked with all the spring of youth and happiness.
“It is marvellous,” she whispered. “I never dreamed that I should ever be happy again.”
They crossed the rustic bridge which led on to the lawn. Lady Cynthia came out of the house to meet them. She showed no signs of fatigue, but her eyes and her tone were full of anxiety.
“Margaret,” she cried, “do you know that the hall is filled with your father's luggage, and that the car is ordered to take him to Southampton directly after lunch?”