"She looked very beautiful," Paul answered simply, an odd thrill in his voice. "But not—not like her old self. One can see—she has suffered."
Desmond bit his lip and turned away again. A sudden mist blurred the sunset splendour, the bronze and purple iridescence of the sea. Paul went on speaking.
"She sent you a message, Theo—she wished you had come too."
"Did she? That was kind of her.—Sir John no worse?"
"Apparently not. She will write from Mavins."
"Good."
He leaned on the balustrade as before and tacitly dismissed the subject; but Wyndham, regarding him thoughtfully, and remembering Honor's tell-tale blush, fell to dreaming of a golden future for these two who were dearer to him than his own soul.
Suddenly Desmond spoke again in an altered tone.
"Paul—I've been thinking——"