Then all at once he seemed to realise that this was in very truth the woman he wanted sitting beside him; that she was here and for his sake; that he was alone and unhappy no longer; and that after all the weeks of hunger and restlessness he had got his heart’s desire.
He looked down at her tremulous face with eyes of passionate tenderness.
“Is this my wife?” he asked hoarsely, and Esther answered––
“If you still want me.”
“Want you!” Micky caught her to him. “Haven’t I always wanted you?...”
Fortunately the train was not very full, and the corridor immediately outside their carriage was deserted, or somebody might have had a very interesting demonstration of how to kiss a woman who had refused for months to be kissed.
Micky was like a boy in his happiness. He looked years younger than the gloomy man who had dismissed Driver ten minutes since. He could not take his eyes 304 from Esther––he could not believe in his own happiness even while he was engulfed in it. His arm was round her, regardless of chance wanderers in the corridor––he held her hand to his lips and kissed it passionately.
“What have you done with ... that other ring you used to wear?” he asked jealously.
She turned her face away.
“I threw it out of the window when we came back from Paris,” she told him.