Quentin rose to his feet and stared at her in surprise.
“It’s Quentin!” she cried.
“That’s who it is!”
“At last you have come,” she added, and held out her hand. “What are you looking at me like that for? Have I changed so very much?”
She was charming in her white dress, which clung to her graceful figure and well-rounded hips. There was a gracious smile on her lips, and her black eyes were shining.
“You are just the same,” she said.
“Yes, the same—but older. I saw Rafaela and Juan de Dios in Biarritz. They told me you were here.”
“And you came here immediately?”
“Yes.”