He looked at her with smiling, sceptical eyes. “Didn't you enjoy the winter?”
“Do you enjoy being drugged with champagne?”
His face altered so quickly that, confused, she only stared at him, the fixed smile stamped on her lips; then, overwhelmed in the revelation:
“Stephen, surely, surely you know what I meant! I did not mean that! Dear, do you dream for one moment that—that I could—”
“No. You have not hurt me. Besides, I know what you mean.”
After a moment he swung forward on his crutches, biting his lip, the frown gathering between his temples.
They were passing the big, old-fashioned hotel with its white façade and green blinds, a lingering landmark of the older city.
“We'll telephone here,” he said.
Side by side they went up the great, broad stoop and entered the lobby.
“If you'll speak to Leila, I'll get Plank on the wire. Say that we'll stop for you at seven.”