Hildegarde was lighted up and laughing. "Crispin, how utterly like you!"
"Well, why not?"
"It's so good to have you here."
"That's why I came."
He was standing on the hearthrug, his hands in his pockets. She was aware of that touch of masterfulness in him which she had felt on the night of her mother's funeral. No other man had ever given her that impression of strength, of mental and physical poise. She had a sense almost of panic.
"Cock-o'-the-walk," she said suddenly, "the conceit of you!"
"It isn't conceit. It's sense. I came to let you know that you belong to me. I was afraid you might forget."
"I haven't promised."
"I don't need any promises. When I am ready, I am going to pick you up and carry you off."
"You say it as if you believe it."
"I do believe it. You'll see."
She had a feeling that he might do it at this very moment. She rose.
"I must go up and dress."
"Are you sure you must?"
"Yes."
He walked with her into the hall, stood at the foot of the stairs, and said, "Where's your balcony, Juliet?"
"My what?"
"Your room."
"Second floor, front."
