nd through the windows opening on the terrace the
sun slanted across the black and white floor, the faded tapestry chairs,
and Darrow's travelling coat and cap, which lay among the cloaks and
rugs piled on a bench against the wall.

The sight of these garments, lying among her own wraps, gave her a sense
of homely intimacy. It was as if her happiness came down from the skies
and took on the plain dress of daily things. At last she seemed to hold
it in her hand.

As they entered the hall her eye lit on an unstamped note conspicuously
placed on the table.

"From Owen! He must have rushed off somewhere in the motor."

She felt a secret stir of pleasure at the immediate inference that she
and Darrow would probably lunch alone. Then she opened the note and
stared at it in wonder.

"Dear," Owen wrote, "after what you said yesterday I can't wait another
hour, and I'm off to Francheuil, to catch the Dijon express and travel
back with them. Don't be frightened; I won't speak unless it's safe to.
Trust me for that--but I had to go."

She looked up slowly.

"He's gone to Dijon to meet his grandmother. Oh, I hope I haven't made a
mistake!"

"You? Why, what have you to do with his going to Dijon?"

She hesitated. "The day before yesterday I told him, for the first time,
that I meant to see him through, no matter what happened. And I'm afraid
he's lost his head, and will be imprudent and spoil things. You see, I
hadn't meant to say a word to him till I'd had time to prepare Madame de
Chantelle."

She felt that Darrow was looking at her and reading her thoughts, and
the colour flew to her face. "Yes: it was when I heard you were coming
that I told him. I wanted him to feel as I felt...it seemed too unkind
to make him wait!" Her hand was in his, and his arm rested for a moment
on her shoulder.

"It WOULD have been too unkind to make him wait."

They moved side by side toward the stairs. Through the haze of bliss
enveloping her, Owen's affairs seemed curiously unimportant and remote.
Nothing really mattered but this torrent of light in her veins. She put
her foot on the lowest step, saying: "It's nearly luncheon time--I must
take off my hat..." and as she started up the stairs Darrow stood below
in the hall and watched her. But the distance between them did not make
him seem less near: it was as if his thoughts moved with her and touched
her like endearing hands.

In her bedroom she shut the door and stood still, lookin