His hands fell to his sides, in a gesture of impatience.
“Impossible. How can I do such a thing? It would be absurd.”
“But I can’t,” she said.
Her tiny figure, the plaintiveness of her upturned face, the wistfulness of her soft eyes, brought back to him a flood of memories. She was still the same sweet, innocent soul. The lines about his lips relaxed into a smile, and he took her, yielding passively, into his arms and kissed her cheek.
“I will do what you like, dear,” he said, in a low voice. “Anything in the world to win you again. I will ask him. It will be making reparation. And then you will marry me?”
“Yes,” murmured Yvonne faintly, “I promised you.”
“Why did you not write to me again?” he asked, still holding her hands.
“I was going to write when the answer came,” she said, looking down. “But no answer did come. And then, I was content to help Stephen.”
“You could have helped Stephen, all the same.”
“Oh, no!” she cried, with a swift look upwards. “Don’t you understand?”