“It is the turn of madame,” said Mme. Popea, in her vivacious way.
Katherine laughed.
“This is not a parlour game, you know. But perhaps it is because I am going to dine.”
Raine's heart leapt at the little touch of gaiety. His eyes showed her his gladness. A stream of the other guests entered. She took advantage of the sudden filling of the salon to draw him to her side. A glance asked a tremulous question. He reassured her with a whisper, and they went out on to the balcony.
“I have told my father,” said Raine. “He will love you, dear.”
She pressed his arm for answer. There was a long silence, which Raine, half divining her mood, would not break. At last he said, lover-wise,—
“Tell me your thoughts, beloved.”
“I was thinking that I have lived thirty-one years, and I have never known till now what even freedom from care was. I seemed blinded by the light, like the prisoners let out from the Bastille. There is something awful in such happiness.”
“It shall be with you to the end,” said Raine.
“I know it,” she replied.