She was some seconds opening the door, and when at last she came he saw that although she had hastily powdered her face the tear-stains were still visible upon it.
For one moment Abbershaw felt that he was going to have a relapse into his old staid self, but he overcame it and there was an expression of fiery determination in his chubby round face which astonished the girl so much that her surprise showed in her eyes. Abbershaw recognized it, and it annoyed him.
In a flash he saw himself as she must have seen him all along, a round, self-important little man, old for his years, inclined to be pompous, perhaps – terrible thought – even fussy. A horrible sense of humiliation swept over him and at the same time a growing desire to teach her she was wrong, to show her that she had been mistaken, to prove to her that he was a man to be reckoned with, a personality, a man of action, vigorous, resourceful, a he-man, a . . . !
He drew a deep breath.
‘I can’t have you crying like this,’ he said, and picked her up and kissed her.
Meggie could not have responded more gracefully. Whether it was relief, shock, or simply the last blow to her tortured nerves, he never knew, but she collapsed into his arms; at first he almost thought she had fainted.
He led her firmly down the long corridor to the wide window-seat at the far end. It was recessed, and hung with heavy curtains. He sat down and drew her beside him, her head on his shoulder.
‘Now,’ he said, still bristling with his newly discovered confidence, ‘you’re going to escape from here tomorrow certainly, if not tonight, and you’re going to marry me because I love you! I love you! I love you!’
He paused breathlessly and waited, his heart thumping against his side like a schoolboy’s.
Her face was hidden from him and she did not speak. For a moment the awful thought occurred to him that she might be angry with him, or even – laughing.