"Why don't you sing?" he said.
A little tremor of indignation went through her. He spoke with the gentle indulgence of one who humours a child. Only once had she ever sung to him, and then he had sat in such utter immobility and silence that she had questioned with herself afterwards if he had cared for it.
She rose with a wholly unconscious touch of majesty. "I have no voice to-night," she said.
"Then come here!" he said.
His voice was still absolutely gentle but it held an indefinable something that made her raise her brows.
She went to him nevertheless, and he put his hand through her arm and drew her close to his side. The night was heavy with a brooding heat-haze that blotted out the stars. The little twanging instrument down by the river was silent.
For a space Monck did not speak, and gradually the tension went out of Stella. She relaxed at length and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
His arm went round her in a moment; he held her against his heart. "Stella," he said, "do you ever think to yourself nowadays that I am a very formidable person to live with?"
"Never," she said.
His arm tightened about her. "You are not afraid of me any longer?"