"To-morrow. Unless—a word or two, first, from you——"
"No, not that!" She smiled at his old boyish faith in her. "Better to keep me outside. You see—I am India. So I am already too much in it that way."
"You are in it up to the hilt!" he declared with sudden fervour: and—his tongue unloosed—he poured out to her a measure of his pent up feeling; how they had inspired him—she and his father; how he naturally hoped they would back him up; and a good deal more that was for her private ear alone....
Her immense capacity for listening, her eloquent silence and gentle flashes of raillery, her occasional caress—all were balm to him in his electrical mood.
Were ever two beings quite so perfectly in tune——?
Could he possibly leave her? Could he face the final wrench?
When at last she stooped to kiss him, the faint clear whiff of sandalwood waked a hundred memories; and he held her close a long time, her cheek against his hair.
"Bad boy! Let me go," she pleaded; and, with phenomenal obedience, he unclasped his hands.
"See if you can go now!"
It was his old childish game. The moment she stirred, his hands were locked again.