"Here it is," she said. "Quite safe, as I told you."
He took it from her, retaining possession of her hand, and drawing her nearer to him at the same time. "Let me put it on."
She stood quietly while he placed it on her engagement finger, and would then have moved, but he did not release her.
Suddenly he threw his arm round her. "Phil," he said passionately, "my darling! You do not know how I love you, my dear, my dear! I don't want to frighten you--I try to be patient--but if you knew how I crave for a word from you! You are all that is sweet and dear and good, but oh, how I long to hear you tell me, just once, that you love me! My darling, if you have even a little love for me, I will teach you love's fullness." He bent his head to hers and rested his face for a moment on the dark softness of her hair. Then he held her from him, and looked eagerly into her eyes. "Do you love me, sweetheart?" he whispered.
Somewhere in the back of her mind Philippa had always known that this was the question he would some day ask. She had never framed it in words, but she was prepared with her answer. She had resolved that when the time came she would lie--lie--boldly; and without hesitation. Was it not part of the rôle she was playing?
The words were easy. Just "I love you." But as her lips framed them a sudden flood of intense feeling rushed upon her, bringing an instant realisation that it was all a mistake, a delusion. It was no lie; it was the truth. What had wrought this strange miracle she did not know--she only knew that a blinding flash of revelation had plunged her into a sea of ecstasy which left no room for thought, no room for wonder. A vivid blush suffused her face from throat to temples--she shook from head to feet.
He drew her closer--closer--until their lips met in a long kiss. Then--she was in the shelter of his arm--her burning face hidden on his breast.