“He—he might have, Ivan . . . just as—a matter of hope.”
Ivan fell on his knees and drew her hand from her face.
This was all rosy.
“Don’t let’s get out of our depth, dear. There’s something above
inducements and villas and old fellows’ whims. Something stronger. It
kept me out of this villa for ten long weeks.”
“And me,” whispered Belinda. Ivan put her hands to his lips and let his
head fall to her lap. “When you asked me to lunch and said what you
did—that day, it made me think . . . And then, suddenly, I was all
sorry I hadn’t gone. . . . And then—I thought of the Will. . . . I
thought, perhaps if we saw something of each other—not exactly off
parade, but at—at home, Ivan. . . .”
The man put his arms about her and kissed her mouth.
“I love you,” he said simply. “I love you far better than ever I did
before. When I came in that morning and found you here in the hall, I—I
felt I always wanted to find you there when I came in. You looked so
wonderful, Belinda.”