"I am—quite pleased, dear," he said.
She raised her head. "Trevor! You know?"
He took her face between his hands. "My darling, yes."
She opened her eyes wide, searching his face. "But that—that wasn't your reason for—wanting me back?"
He looked straight down into her eyes, still holding her. "I wonder if I need answer that question," he said slowly.
She was silent for a moment, then stretched her hands to him with a gesture of complete confidence. "No, dear, you needn't. Just forgive me for asking—that's all."
He stooped at once without speaking, and the kiss that passed between them was the seal of a perfect understanding.
Not till some time later did the request he was expecting her to make find utterance. He had been giving her a few details of Bertrand's illness and death.
"He simply went in his sleep," he said, "scarcely an hour after you left him. Max and I were both with him, but he went so easily that we neither of us knew when it was. There was no suffering or distress of any sort. He just passed."
He spoke with great gentleness. He was keenly anxious to remove her fear of death. But he knew by the way her arm tightened about his neck that something of the awe of it was upon her even while he spoke.