She started, however, and the book fell to the floor, where it remained. And she rose to her feet when the owner of the card came in. The relict of Jerome Elstree was still young, and grief had as yet destroyed none of her beauty. She looked better, perhaps, in the morning—which says a great deal.
'Alec?' she murmured—her eyes as soft as her voice. 'I thought you would come this afternoon.'
'Are you quite alone, Mrs. Elstree?' he asked with a look of warning.
'Quite, Mr. Feilding. And, since the door is shut, and we are quite alone—why—then——' She laughed, held out both her hands, and put up her face like a child.
He took her hands and bent to kiss her lips.
'Zoe,' he said, 'you grow lovelier every day. Last night——' He kissed her again.
'Lovelier than Philippa?'
'What is Philippa beside you? An iceberg beside a—a garden of flowers——'
'There is beauty in icebergs, I have read.'
'Never mind Philippa, dear Zoe. She is nothing to us.'