“You at last, after all these years! Just the same. Just as beautiful. Much more.”
“This is rather public,” she managed to say, releasing herself. “There are lots of patients——”
He laughed and, indicating the parapet, invited her to sit.
“You must forgive me,” he said, seating himself by her side. “The sight of you blotted out the world. Don’t be frightened. I’m quite tame now. Look at me.”
She obeyed him as she had done in her early girlhood, dominated for the moment by his tone.
“How do you think I’m looking? Battered by time? A crock to be wrapped up in flannel and set in the chimney-corner to wheeze the rest of his life away?”
“You look very little older,” she said with a wan smile. “And you haven’t a grey hair in your head.”
“That’s good. I’m as young as ever I was. I can sweep away twenty years and begin where I left off.”
“You’re more fortunate than I am,” said Marcelle.
“Rubbish!” said Baltazar.