“You didn’t behave as though you did.”
“Respect had to be served.”
Belinda nodded gravely.
“That’s right. When you told me off at the last——”
“I beg your pardon, my darling. I didn’t know.”
“How could you, dear? Well, I felt an enormous respect.”
“I wonder you didn’t hate me.”
“I did—till luncheon next day. Like thunder. And then . . .” She
hesitated there and slid her arms round his neck. “You looked so nice,
my darling, across our own table.”
“My sweet, my sweet . . .”
Ivan rose to his feet and put a hand to his throat.
A moment’s fumbling, and in his hand lay a ring. This was fast to a cord
about his neck.
The girl gasped.
“Ivan! Since when?”
“Since the night we tore it,” he said.
He snapped the cord and took her left hand in his.
Then he slid the ring on to her finger and put her palm to his
lips. . . .
Her arms were close about him, and her cheek against his.
“Ivan, Ivan, my blessed! _Now I know._ . . . Till a moment ago I wasn’t
sure that it wasn’t the Will.”
The man picked her up in his arms.
“You faithless child,” he said. “It was always only a question of
finding a way. And then you found it.”
Belinda regarded him with shining eyes.
“That’s easy enough,” she said, “where there’s a Will.”