The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. He walked in her direction. ” “I promise. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement.
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