"He's to be your Court Painter, my queen"—McTaggart's eyes never left her—"Won't he love Italy? And Aunt Elizabeth?—She knows!—I told her the whole story, Jill. She's been a brick to keep the secret."
Then he mounted the daïs—impatiently—as she still dreamed on.
"I say, Jill. You've never thanked me! This is my wedding present, you see."
Jill gave a little start. Impulsively she opened her arms.
"Oh, Peter!—do forgive me." But he slipped down at her feet.
For a moment he knelt there, arms about her, his face pressed against her knees.
She could feel, through her dress, his burning cheeks, the wave of longing that swept across him ... Then, slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes, blue as the heavens beyond, drank their fill. He whispered her name.
"Jill ... my darling little wife!"
THE END