“Not at all. There’s nothing to confess. You see, when I told her you were going to marry, I didn’t tell her whom, and she didn’t ask. Now I’m going to rectify the omission—that’s all!”
When Adam returned he was laughing softly
He was away for some time, during which Kathryn sat on in the candlelight, trying to savour the unbelievable thing—that Adam loved her. And she was resolving:
I must never let it fade from being the wonder that it is now. If ever it’s in danger of becoming commonplace, or I’m taking it for granted, I must always remember that there was a time when I believed it could never happen, and that when it did it was like a glory round me.
“What did Matron say?” urged Kathryn.
“She was as wily as a fox. When I told her, she said that she had suspected some romantic significance to your ‘private reasons’, and that to my free piece of information she had already supplied the bridegroom’s name in her own mind, only she hadn’t wanted to embarrass me by forcing a premature announcement. She
graciously added that I was to be congratulated, as you and I were ‘ideally suited’. In short, she conveyed the impression that she had blessed our union weeks ago!”
“I don’t believe a word of it. About her knowing, I mean,” protested Kathryn laughingly.
“Neither do I. After all, dearest, we didn’t know ourselves—then, did we?”
Kathryn shook her head. “My ‘private reasons’ meant only that I was running away before it was too late
—”
“
And now you’re staying with me—for always.” His hands were framing her head as he tilted her face up to his.
Kathryn murmured:
“You
haven’t
kissed me
yet
—”
“
Haven’t I
?”
His eyes challenged hers mischievously, but the true depth of his meaning seemed to bu
rn
into her brain
.
A lovely colour suffused her face and throat as she whispered:
“So you did know I wasn’t Thelma that night?”
“I never for an instant supposed you were. But I had to challenge you with some name not your own or you would have realised I’d recognised you. I’ve told you that I had my moments of weakness. That was one of the worst—and yet the best—that I had to endure.
”
“You meant to kiss
me
—like that?” The memory of the touch of his lips upon hers in the darkness was a heady, melting excitement.
“I meant to kiss
you
—like that. As I’m doing now
—
”
But he was wrong. As he sought and found her mouth there was a difference. In that first kiss there
had been passion driven blindly by despair. The second, though it spoke of a ripe passion still, promised the hope of a fulfilment that would be their love’s armour against the world.