"All right!" he mumbled penitently, and kissed the hand. It was withdrawn, and he went on:
"I have my little fortune, though Flying has made a hole in it. And I'd naturally like—as my mother is provided for—the stuff to go to my wife."
"Oh! if I only were—good enough, I would be your wife to-morrow!" she groaned.
He got up and took her masterfully in his arms.
"No more of that. I can't stick being made out a—bally pattern. You are a hundred times too good for me!"
"But not at all patriotic," came drifting back upon him in the voice of Raymond. His embrace never slackened, but he asked of her a question, looking for the answer to lighten in her eyes: "Pat—you've not said yet that you're glad they've given me my Flying Commission!—that you're British enough to give your man, if it came to giving—for the Old Shop! I know you are!—of course you are!—but say it—I'd like to hear you."
"I—I——" She caught her breath and her eyes wavered miserably under his steady gaze. "I'm not a little bit o' good at telling decent proper lies. I love England—but I love you heaps, heaps, heaps best!" He felt her pant between his arms.... She writhed her long white neck like a creature in desperate agony. "I want to eat my cake and have it!" she wailed, evading his eyes. "Now you know me, you'll despise me. But it's the truth—anyway! I'd like a man to send to the War—and a man to keep for myself!"
His arms wrapped her closely and his heart plunged madly against her bosom. He kissed her on her yielded mouth, and the kiss was a living flame.
"That will be when we are married and you have a son!" he whispered, and a drowning horror enveloped her. She cried out and thrust him back, and might have sunk down at his feet and told her dreadful story then....
Whitaker's Peerage intervened, sliding from the lap of the obese, reposeful Member, and falling to the carpet with a resounding thump. The indignant eyes of the awakened lady glared at Sherbrand over her gold-rimmed spectacles. She demanded, snorting: