. What was to be the result of their reckless, hot-blooded drawing
each to each did not seem to him to matter much just then. All that
mattered was that this hateful, gnawing emptiness should be filled. He
was not used to that hungry cramp of "wanting." Even his want for
Sophy--which had for a time given him the wholesome discipline of the
seemingly unattainable--had been only too soon assuaged. In some way,
somehow ... he was lordly in his vagueness ... this horrid vacuum
created by Belinda must be filled by her.

He rushed into the day's pleasures like one hag-ridden. His play at polo
was maniacal rather than brilliant.

Belinda came back one afternoon towards twilight. She was on tiptoe with
delicious anticipation and curiosity. There was in her mood, also, an
exasperated craving, for in disciplining Morris she had subjected her
own heart to the rod.

The butler said that "Mrs. Loring was out, but Mr. Loring had just come
in." Where was Mr. Grey? Mr. Grey was having tea in his private study
with Master Bobby. Belinda's heart sent up a glad little tongue of
flame. The coast was clear, then. She pulled off her gloves carelessly.
No. She wouldn't have any tea. Did Simms know where Mr. Loring was?
Simms thought that Mr. Loring was in the library. He would go and see.

"Never mind," Belinda said indifferently. "I want a book to take
upstairs anyway. Just see after my trunks, Simms. They'll be here in a
few minutes...."

She went lightly towards the library, through the long drawing-room that
opened into it. Her soft, quick steps in her yachting shoes made no
sound. She stopped mid-way the long room and leaned forward from her
supple waist, peering between the folds of tapestry that veiled the
communicating doorway. Yes. He was there. The lights had not yet been
turned on. He was slouched in an armchair smoking moodily. Whiskey and
soda stood on a tray beside him.

Belinda thought she knew well what he was brooding on as he lounged
there in the deep chair, with the cigarette burning out in his dropped
hand. If she had really known all that he was thinking, her triumph
would have been complete.

She stole up behind him--leaned over. Close to his ear, so that her
warm, musky breath flowed with the words, she murmured: "Have you missed
me?"

Ah ... it was worth that week and many more away from him--this crushing
clasp of all herself against him. She had not known he was so
beautifully strong. It assuaged the fever