He stood upright in the middle of the room, heart beating violently.
Footsteps down the passage. Her voice, clear and loud and fresh: "Down, Rix! Down, you brute!... Ah, that's right—good fellow——" And she entered, still clamorously surrounded; hair in a bright tangle; cheeks aglow.
"Hullo—it was dear of you to come.... Now then, off with you, the whole pack; I'm done with you for the moment—private audience awaiting me. No, Rix can stop. No, Hetty, I'm not bringing the handsome gentleman into the schoolroom for tea—Great Scott, what next! and you and your pals the merest puling babes, who haven't even learnt yet not to whisper in company...." Remonstrating noisily, the three healthy schoolgirls departed, with the terriers at their heels. "Let me introduce you—this is Vercingetorix, my special property." Pat talked very fast, as though not quite ready yet to hear what the man had to say; "Not quite so affectionate, my angel!" as the four-foot-high St. Bernard dabbed clumsily with his tongue at Gareth's face; "You needn't use all the syllables of his name at once; but the man who gave him to me had called him Tiny ... can you conceive of anything less subtle? I informed him that his was a primitive type of humour, and he departed utterly crushed. That's right—not an inch of room for us!" for by now Vercingetorix had contrived to put most of himself on to the divan, where he lolled in voluptuous pomp, with a big rough sheet of red tongue hanging out; "...bless you, we love to deny ourselves for you!... He's a mere puppy, you know; eight months old; has only just started to grow, really. And the pathos of it all is that he thinks he's small; he does, indeed. He tries to behave like an ordinary puppy—these bundlesome little things that you can pick up with one finger. And I ask you—look at him!"
But for all her casual and airy chatter, Patricia could not fail to perceive that Gareth's looks were for her. She tossed off her jersey, picked up a book and laid it down again ... and faced him, rather a tremulous smile on her lips, but with head erect, and chin more than ever dented.
"Well, my man...."
"Why did you do it?"
She did not speak—but then her hands came out in a swift movement towards him, as though she were giving—giving——
And he seized them and held them.
"Patricia, was it for me?—Was it?... You cared enough for that?"
"Oh, but I'm so glad if it's to be your book!" she cried impetuously ... and he felt as though he stood in an open place, the centre of a great gale of love.