"Well--what do you think of the great Mr. Chesterton?" he asked with a laugh.
"I do not think his conversation is nearly as good as his writing," said Jill.
"But you smiled at that last thing he said."
"Yes, I know." She explained it first with her eyes and then, "He was going," she added--"and I think it must have been relief."
John's heart thumped. A light of daring blazed in his eyes. It was relief! She was glad to be alone with him! This meant more than the look of disappointment. He had crossed the room, found himself beside her, found her hand gripped fiercely in his before he realised that he had obeyed the volition to do so.
"You wanted us to be alone?" he whispered.
"Yes--I've got a lot I want to say."
Had the moment not been such as this, he would have caught the note of pain that vibrated in her voice; but he was in the whirlwind of his love. It was deafening in his ears, it was blinding in his eyes; because then he knew she loved him also. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. Her hand was to his lips and he was kissing every finger.
Presently he held her hand to him and looked up.
"You knew this," he said--"didn't you? You knew this was bound to be?"