"He'll send for you when he has. How do you think I am looking, Nigel?"

"Wonderful," he answered, rising to his feet and standing with his elbow
upon the mantelpiece, gazing down at her. "But then you _are_ wonderful,
aren't you, Maggie? You know I always thought so."

She picked up a mirror from the little bag by her side and scrutinized
her features.

"It can't be my face," she decided, turning towards him with a smile. "I
must have charm."

"Your face is adorable," he declared.

"Are you going to flirt with me?" she asked, with a faint smile at the
corners of her lips. "You always do it so well and so convincingly. And
I hate foreigners. They are terribly in earnest but there is no finesse
about them. You may kiss me just once, please, Nigel, the way I like."

He held her for a moment in his arms, tenderly, but with a reserve to
which she was accustomed from him. Presently she thrust him away. Her
own colour had risen a little.

"Delightful," she murmured. "Think of the wasted months! No one has
kissed me, Nigel, since we said good-bye."

"Have you made up your mind to marry me yet?" he asked.

"My dear," she answered, patting his hand, "do restrain your ardour. Do
you really want to marry me?"