“How has he managed to find me?”
“I don’t know. Possibly he will explain.”
Yvonne sat down by the table and put her hand to her heart.
“It is so sudden,” she said deprecatingly.
“Perhaps you would rather put off seeing him,” suggested Joyce.
“Oh no, no. I will see him now—if you don’t mind, Stephen, dear. I am quite strong again. Tell him to come. And don’t be unhappy about me.”
She smiled up at him and held out her hand. He took it in his and kissed it.
“My own brave, dear Yvonne,” he said impulsively. A flush and a grateful glance rewarded him.
He found the Bishop scanning the book backs.
“Will you let me show you up to the sitting-room?” said Joyce.