After the gloom of the basement the light dazed her for a second as she walked into the dining-room and saw a tall man standing there.
"Well, Jill?"
At Peter's voice she gave a sadden breathless cry. She caught at the back of a chair and swayed...
"Good Lord! I've startled you."
His arm went out, supporting her. "I'm awfully sorry." He felt her stiffen. For Jill had recovered herself.
"You made me jump—How are you, Peter?" She forced a shaky little laugh. "I'm all right—it's nothing ... really." She drew back, her face red—"it's the hot kitchen. I'm rather tired—but awfully glad to see you again."
"You do look a bit played out." His blue eyes ran over her, conscious of a subtle change. This was not his schoolgirl friend of the short skirts and swinging plait.
Her hair was wound round her head in glossy coils, from beneath which little tendrils curled away, dark against her white forehead.
Her throat and arms, bare and dimpled, were softly curved and the low bosom that rose and fell with her quick breath had lost its narrow, boyish look.
But the grey eyes were the same, pure and fearless, though shadowed now with faint circles of violet that added to their natural size; and the pretty face, flushed from the fire, had the clear skin of the child he loved, the rather large and humorous mouth.