was aware that at last the moment had arrived, for which she had been waiting for many years.
All the fall and winter she had observed an increasing tenderness in Roger's manner toward her. More and more often she had caught the unmistakable signs of his consciousness of her physical presence—a peculiar intensifying of the glow in his eyes, and slow deepening of his color—fleeting, like cloud-shadows, that used to come and go only when he was talking of Sheilah, but now frequently when Sheilah's name hadn't been mentioned for hours.
Cicely was aware that Roger had loved Sheilah. He hadn't told her so in so many words. It had not been necessary. But she knew. Therefore he could not love her solely and supremely above all others, as she had once so desired. But she was content. She wanted him on his own terms, on any terms.
Now, with a great effort at self-control, she raised her eyes from the logs and met his. He slipped his hand from her wrist down over her fingers and held them in a long embrace. It was a beautiful moment to Cicely—but brief, a mere fragment, shattered by the sound of approaching steps. The butler crossing the hall. Reluctantly Cicely drew her hand away—her eyes away too—and sat alert.
'Miss Morgan is wanted on the telephone,' the butler announced from the threshold.
'Can't you take the message?'
