a
deep breath and assembled her thoughts more calmly than she had as yet
been able to do. The terrible experience through which she had passed
had left its imprint upon her; she was still ready to jump at the
slightest sound, or even, absurdly, to burst into tears. Yet deep
within her was a warm consciousness of security, an earnest of
happiness to come. No word of actual love had been spoken between her
and Roger, she had not been alone with him since that night at the
villa, yet it was enough for her to recall the pressure of his face
against her hands and the hungry way in which his eyes had dwelt upon
her. In that hour she had learned how much she mattered to him. She
closed her eyes now and revelled in the delicious certainty of what was
coming to her. Her heart beat almost as it had done during those
dreadful moments in the laboratory which she was striving to forget; it
thumped against her ribs with great blows, so that instinctively she
put her hands upon her breast to quiet it.

"What an idiot I am to take so much for granted," she reflected,
chiding herself. "Suppose I'm mistaken about him after all?"

She knew she wasn't mistaken. She also knew that old Miss Clifford
scented a romance, was indeed keeping out of the way now to let her be
alone with Roger. This was the first time that Esther had had her
clothes on; the old lady had helped her to dress, unpacking with her
own hands the little steamer-trunk that had been fetched from the Route
de Grasse, and given orders to the chambermaid to press all its
contents and put them in order.

Esther glanced down at her frock. It was the peach-coloured one she
had worn that night when she had danced at the Ambassadeurs. It felt a
little loose upon her now, for she had lost a good deal of weight,
perhaps six or seven pounds, she reflected. Her hair needed trimming,
the curly bronze locks played about her neck and ears in a fashion that
stirred her displeasure. Still, that could soon be remedied; she would
take herself in hand at once. She was glad to be in mufti for a bit,
to indulge with a clear conscience in a riot of feminine distractions.
Even to sit here quietly, her hands in her lap, after the storm she had
passed through, was in itself a luxury. Her feeling of security and
well-being was so acute that the realisation of it brought a little
stab of almost pain, while tears, so close to the surface now, rushed
into her eyes.

It was at this mom