“God forgive me, will you make me say so?”
There was a moment’s silence, then something brushed his hand, light as a flower, and Delilah raised her head.
“No, no, wait.” She was laughing, tremulous and exquisite. “Did you think—did you think that I had really sent your notes?”
O’Hara felt madness touching him; he stared down at her, voiceless.
“But of course, of course, I never sent them. They are upstairs; wait, I’ll get them for you—wait!”
She slipped from his arms and was half way to the door before his voice arrested her.
“Lilah!”
“Yes?”
“You say—that you have not sent the notes?”
“Darling idiot, how could you have thought that I would send them? This is Life, not melodrama!”