"I was going down to see you."
"I thought you would come."
He was sitting there, his back against the wall, and at once she sank
down opposite him on a stone that made her a prim little seat. The
shadow lay upon her in flecks, but the outline of her white dress was
visible to him.
"Did you call me?" she asked. There was no trace of her unrest of the
moments before, either in her manner or in her own happy consciousness.
She felt instead a delicious ease and security that needed no explaining
even to herself.
Osmond answered as if he were deliberating.
"I don't know whether I called you. I hope I didn't. I was thinking
about you, of course."
"Why do you hope you didn't?"
"Because I haven't any right to."
"Doesn't my coming prove you had a right to? You see you did call me,
and I came."