He had never said anything worth remembering, but
there had been danger and excitement in his presence. There was
neither in the neighbourhood of Charles, yet she could not forget his
words.
She opened her eyes. 'What was it you said just now?'
'You're the best and most beautiful woman in the world. Your fish is
getting cold.'
She ate it without appetite or distaste. 'But, Charles--'
'I know.'
'What?'
'Everything,' he said.
'How?'
He tapped himself, 'Here.'
'I expect you've got it all wrong.'
'Yesterday, perhaps, but not to-day. To-day I know everything.'
'How does it feel?'
'Wonderful,' he replied. They laughed together but, as though with
that laughter the door to emotion had been opened, he saw tears start
into her eyes. 'No,' he begged, 'there's no need to cry.'
She laughed again. 'I've got to cry some time.'
'When we're going home, then. We're going home in a car.'
'Are we?' she said, pleased as a child. 'But what about London,
Charles? I have to go.'
'Not to-night. Here's some chicken.'
'I can't go back.'
'But you haven't left a note.'
'No.'
'Then it's easy. You and I have just been to a concert. You promised
me that long ago.'
She uttered no more protests. She ate and drank obediently, glad to be
cared for, and when the meal was over she told him gratefully, 'You
have been good. You never said another word about the band and it has
made even my head ache.
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