'Oh Everard—what is it?' she asked nervously; but she knew before he could answer, and throwing her objections to public caresses to the winds, for anything was better than that he should be hurt at just that moment, she put up her free arm and drew his head down and kissed him again,—lingeringly this time, a kiss of tender, appealing love. What must it be like, she thought while she kissed him and her heart yearned over him, to be so fearfully sensitive. It made things difficult for her, but how much, much more difficult for him. And how wonderful the way his sensitiveness had developed since marriage. There had been no sign of it before.
Implicit in her kiss was an appeal not to let anything she said or did spoil his birthday, to forgive her, to understand. And at the back of her mind, quite uncontrollable, quite unauthorised, ran beneath these other thoughts this thought: 'I am certainly abject.'
This time he was quickly placated because of his excitement at getting home. 'Nobody can hurt me as you can,' was all he said.
'Oh but as though I ever, ever mean to,' she breathed, her arm round his neck.
Meanwhile the parlourmaid looked on.
'Why doesn't she go?' whispered Lucy, making the most of having got his ear.
'Certainly not,' said Wemyss out loud, raising his head. 'I might want her. Do you like the hall, little Love?'
'Very much,' she said, loosing him.
'Don't you think it's a very fine staircase?'
'Very fine,' she said.