"Shall we go on the yacht?" she asked, eagerness half-suppressed
in her voice.
"Yes," said Saltash, and he spoke with finality, even with a certain
grimness.
Toby's face lighted up for a second, and then clouded again. She glanced
at him doubtfully. "If Paris amuses you--" she ventured.
"Paris does not amuse me," said Saltash emphatically. "Have a cigarette,
_ma chere_, while I go and dress."
"Can I help you dress?" said Toby, with a touch of wistfulness. "I have
put everything ready."
His odd eyes flashed her a smile. "Not here, _cherie_, not now.
Perhaps--when we get on a yacht again--"
He was gone, leaving the sentence unfinished, leaving Toby looking after
him with the wide eyes of one who sees at last a vision long desired. She
stretched out both her arms as the door closed upon him and her lips
repeated very softly the words that he had last uttered.
"Perhaps--when we got on a yacht again--"
When they went down to the great _salle-a-manger_ a little later, her
face was flushed and her smile ready, though she glanced about her in a
shy, half-furtive fashion as they entered. They found a secluded table
reserved for them in a corner, and her eyes expressed relief.
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