Her breast held her
secret. To her own heart she voiced the cry, "Have I done well, dear one?
Have I done well? Do you approve of me? Do you?" It may be that Senhouse
heard her in his Wiltshire hills.
XI
Nevile Ingram was capable of fine ideas, we have seen, and could sometimes
carry them out. He had had a moment of generosity, with Sanchia's letter
in his hand, and held in the main to his expressed intentions. When he
went to see her, at the end of three rigorous days, he behaved like a
gentleman. She entered the room where he awaited her, pale for his
embrace: he came to meet her, put his hand upon her shoulder, and,
stooping, kissed her lightly. "My dear," he said, "I'll deserve you yet;"
and he really meant it. She was touched, and quite kind to him. He
exhibited his version of her surrender.
"We're friends, eh? We know each other of old, have no surprises, and can
take raptures for granted. That's your notion, I fancy? It's not mine, but
I'll be thankful for what you give me, and it shall be my fault if you
find me backward when you're ready. Bygones are bygones, then? We make a
new start?"
She sat staidly under his gaze, not aware at the moment that his steel-
blue eyes searched her avidly for a hint of more than he stated.
Pages:
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377