The tension increased as the day went on; still, no one had said to
another, "What is there so strange about to-day? Do you feel it? Is it
only our imagination--a reaction after strain, or is it that a
presentiment of something to happen hangs over us?"
Stephen had not yet had any talk with Victoria. They had seen each other
alone for scarcely more than a moment since the night at Toudja; but now
that Nevill was better, and the surgeons said that if all went well,
danger was past, it seemed to Stephen that the hour had come.
After they had lunched in the dim, cool dining-room, and Lady MacGregor
had proposed a siesta for all sensible people, Stephen stopped the girl
on her way upstairs as she followed her sister.
"May I talk to you for a little while this afternoon?" he asked.
Voice and eyes were wistful, and Victoria wondered why, because she was
so happy that she felt as if life had been set to music. She had hoped
that he would be happy too, when Nevill's danger was over, and he had
time to think of himself--perhaps, too, of her.
"Yes," she said, "let's talk in the garden, when it's cooler. I love
being in gardens, don't you? Everything that happens seems more
beautiful."
Stephen remembered how lovely he had thought her in the lily garden at
Algiers. He was almost glad that they were not to have this talk there;
for the memory of it was too perfect to mar with sadness.
"I'm going to put Saidee to sleep," she went on.
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