He laughed again, unsteadily. "Why, who could ever dream of you, my
Wonder? You are a thousand, thousand dreams come true."
Daphne bestowed on him a tremulous and radiant smile. "Please let us get
the cushions. I think I am a little tired."
"And I am a graceless fool! There used to be a pane of class cut out in
one of the south casement windows. Shall we try that?"
"Please, yes. How did you find it, Stephen?" She saw again that thrill
of wonder on his face, but his voice was quite steady.
"I didn't find it; I did it! It was uncommonly useful, getting in that
way sometimes, I can tell you. And, by the Lord Harry, here it is. Wait
a minute, Loveliness--I'll get through and open the south door for
you--no chance that way of spoiling the frock." He swung himself up with
the swift, sure grace of a cat, smiled at her--vanished--it was hardly a
minute later that she heard the bolts dragging back in the south door,
and he flung it wide.
The sunlight streamed into the deep hall and stretched hesitant fingers
into the dusty quiet of the great East Indian room, gilding the soft
tones of the faded chintz, touching very gently the polished furniture
and the dim prints on the walls. He swung across the threshold without a
word, Daphne tiptoeing behind him.
"How still it is," he said in a hushed voice.
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