Yet to-night, as he tramped the whole round of that rocky headland—in the glow of a sky rippled by now with feathers of flame—his blood was in a fever for sheer desire of her, and he cursed the folly that had impelled him to refuse the morning's golden opportunity.
Returning later, in a more chastened mood, he found Wyndham sitting still as a statue, seemingly forgetful of his existence; and of a sudden his heart contracted at thought of his friend's inexhaustible patience, his unquestioning acceptance of moods to which he did not hold the key. Stepping lightly, Desmond came up behind him and laid both hands on his shoulders.
"Forgive me, old man. I didn't precisely mean all that——"
Wyndham scarcely started.
"I thought as much! Don't apologise!" he said, looking up with his slow smile. "It was a pure pleasure to hear you swear again!"
Desmond laughed abruptly. "You'll get more than enough of that kind of pleasure if they refuse me my six months!—But look here, I'm thinking I can't keep you away from them any longer——"
"My dear Theo," Paul interposed with gentle decision. "So long as you stay—I stay. That goes without saying. Meredith will fix it up for us—no fear. Come on now. It's time we went indoors."
They sauntered back up the gravel path together without further speech, yet with thoughts more closely linked than either guessed; thoughts that flew instinctively as homing doves to the one beloved woman—Honor Meredith.