"No," he went on; "I should have taken your absence for a sign that you couldn't goad yourself to meet me; that you were cowering at home, dreading my arrival, and with your heart lost to a much lovelier young man."
"Oh, Maurice!"
"Yes," he continued; "I have never been able to believe that any woman's flighty little soul could be worthy of my own virgin and unchangeable affection."
"Maurice," she pleaded, "don't say things like that to-day; I want you to be quite serious and quite yourself."
"Heaven forbid!" he protested as he took her hand.
The chief engineer had devised a sling to lower Caragh into the boat; the purser had illuminated an inscription to him, signed by every one on board; there seemed to be innumerable hands to shake and good wishes to respond to before the boat was clear of the ship's side.
And then he had to wave his hat again and again to the cheers and shouts of farewell, Lettice sitting beside him burning like a rose.
But her hour came when she had him laid at last upon a sofa by his favourite window, and was kneeling on the floor beside him. Her mouth had been thirsting all day to kiss him, and when he leaned his head back and smiled at her she set her lips on his as though to drink from them.
"Oh, my darling," she murmured, lifting her face to look once more into his eyes, "you can't think what these last few days have been. It didn't seem possible that you could live and come back to me after doing all those splendid things. It was too much happiness for any one. And I was horrid and faithless, and felt sure you'd die. I ought to have known that God would take care of us, because you'd been so brave and loved me so."
Despite himself there was a tinge of pain and shame that showed on Caragh's face, and Lettice lifted her arm that had rested, ever so lightly, across his body.