"It's perfectly delightful," she declared, "but we don't need nearly so
much room, Philip. What a dear little dining table and what a delicious
supper! Everything I like best in the world, from pâté de foie gras to
cold asparagus. You are a dear."

The waiter disappeared with a little bow. They were alone at last. She
held his hands tightly. She was trembling. The forced composure of the
last few minutes seemed to have left her.

"I am silly," she faltered, "but the servants and everything--they won't
come back, will they?"

He laughed as he patted her hand.

"We shan't see another soul, dear," he assured her.

She laid her cheek against his.

"How hot your face feels," she exclaimed. "Throw open the window, do. I
shan't feel it."

He obeyed her at once. The roar of the city, all its harshness muffled,
came to them in a sombre, almost melodious undernote. She rested her
hands upon his shoulder.

"What children we are!" she murmured. "Now it's you who are trembling!
Sit down, please. You've been so brave these last few days."

"It was just for a moment," he told her. "It seems too wonderful. I had a