She raised her eyebrows and laughed scornfully, as the lift bore her upwards.
XVI—Another Letter
Harleston sauntered through Peacock Alley; not finding Mrs. Clephane, he had himself announced and went up to her apartment.
Outwardly he was impassive; inwardly there was the liveliest sensation of eagerness and anticipation. He could not recall a time when he had so much joy in living, and in the expectation of the woman. And when he felt Mrs. Clephane’s small hand in his, and heard her bid him welcome, and looked into her eyes, he was well content to be alive—and with her.
“I’ve quite a lot to tell you,” she smiled. “I’m so glad you could dine with me—it will give us much more time.”
“Time is not of the essence of this contract,” he replied.
“What contract?” she asked, with a fetching little frown of perplexity.
“The contract of the present—and the future.”
“Oh, you mean our friendship—and that you won’t doubt me ever again?”
“Precisely—and then some,” he confided.