"Oh, darling, darling! Isn't it simply ripping—ripping!"
I have never heard such a cry of pure happiness from human throat. He made no attempt to kiss her; some far, far deeper joy seemed to possess them. I had the most vivid impression that this was not the first nor the second nor the tenth time that day they had clasped like that. He was laughing down at her, she laughing softly back. She was fresh and fair as a jonquil—yes, jonquil-hued even to her little gilding of freckles, as if the flower's heart had burst with a happiness like their own, and spread its golden dust around. And they seemed to adore, not so much one another, as some wondrous secret that existed between them.
Then suddenly I saw her stiffen. She had seen me, and he had seen the look in her eyes. Both heads turned swiftly, and they severed. I did not move.
Then slowly my eyes moved from her face to his.
Not a trace of change could I distinguish. He was young, not too young, grave, and filled with some exaltation that did not quite leave him as our eyes looked into one another's.
"I must beg your pardon," I muttered.
He advanced towards me. "Why—Sir George!"
Then swiftly he glanced at her, she as swiftly at him.
The next moment her cheek was against my breast.
"Are they here?" she murmured in a failing voice.