Dulcie pecked at the cheek he extended towards her, making a comic little face.
‘What is your secret, Desmond?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you trust me?’
‘Not yet, my jewel,’ said Desmond. ‘Trust me a bit. I’ll tell you this much, dear. Our troubles are over, and I’ll be coming in a day or two to claim ye! Is that as sweet to you to hear as it is to me to say, I wonder?’
‘This is all very mysterious,’ said Dulcie. ‘But you seem very happy, Desmond. Won’t you tell me what has happened?’
‘Not yet. Wait a bit, and be as happy as your curiosity will let you.’
‘You provoking wretch!’ cried Dulcie. ‘I’m sure something has happened; you seem so ridiculously happy.’
‘Then I look as I feel. Tell me,’ he went on, to stave off further questioning on her part, ‘how are things going on here at the Castle? How is Lord Kilpatrick?’
‘He’s better in health,’ replied Dulcie, ‘but he’s very glum and silent, and he keeps his room. He has seen nobody but Peebles, and Mr. Conseltine, and me. He’s dreadfully changed—quite sullen and disagreeable. Oh, by the way, Mr. Conseltine and that son of his were out nearly all day, and when they came back, about an hour ago, I happened to pass them in the hall. They were both dreadfully pale, and looked awfully disturbed and frightened. Has your secret anything to do with them?
‘Maybe,’ said Desmond. ‘Sure, ’tis no use you asking questions. But ’tis good news I have for you, when the time comes to speak. And now, darling, give me another kiss, and go back indoors.’
He tried hard to hold himself from embracing her, but his arms were round her before he knew it and he strained her to his breast with all his strength.