"Oh! so that was the engrossing subject. I might have known Paul wasn't likely to be expatiating on himself."
"He gave me a stirring account of a certain day in October, six years ago," she went on, with an unconscious softening of her voice.
Desmond's short laugh had in it a genuine touch of embarrassment.
"Did he? That was superfluous of him. The good fellow would have done no less himself in the circumstances. Listen to those two children in there! How finely they're enjoying themselves! I say, Harry!" he shouted to the invisible Denvil, who came forth straightway;—a squarely built, chestnut-haired boy, his sea-blue eyes still full of laughter; "have you quite decided to invite yourself to dinner?"
"Rather—if you'll have me?"
"Of course I'll have you. Cut away and make yourself respectable."
And as the boy vanished in the darkness Desmond turned to find his wife's figure in the open doorway, its purity of outline thrown into strong relief by the light within.
She stood on the threshold balancing herself on the tips of her toes in a light-hearted ecstasy of unrest, and flung out both hands towards her husband.
"Oh, Theo, it was delicious! I had lovely fun!"