“Some day I will tell you,” he said.  “But not yet.”

Then he asked her more about her family and her plans.

They would stay in London at Claridge’s for a week or so, and go down to Bessington Hall for Whitsuntide.  It would be ready for them then.  Josiah had had it all furnished magnificently by one of those people who had taste and ordered well for those who could afford to pay for it.  She was rather longing to see it, she said—­her future home—­and she could have wished she might have chosen the things herself.  Not that it mattered much either way.

“I am very ignorant about houses,” she explained, “because we never really had one, you see, but I think, perhaps, I would know what was pretty from museums and pictures—­and I love all colors and forms.”

He felt sure she would know what was pretty.  How delightful it would be to watch her playing with his old home!  The touches of her gentle fingers would make everything sacred afterwards.

At last they came to the end of the green glade—­and temptation again assailed him.  He must ruffle the peace of her soft eyes once more.

“And here is the barrier,” he said, pointing to a board with “Terrain reserve” upon it—­Reservee pour la chasse de Monsieur le President, “The barrier which Love keeps—­and I want to take him with us as the prince and princess did in the fairy tale.”

“Then you must carry him all by yourself,” laughed Theodora.  “And he will be heavy and tire you, long before we get to Versailles.”

This time she was on her guard—­and besides they were walking—­and he was no longer caressing the edge of her dress with his wild flower; it was almost easy to fence now.

But when they reached the automobile and he bent over to tuck the rug in—­and she felt the touch of his hands and perceived the scent of him—­the subtle scent, not a perfume hardly, of his coat, or his hair, a wild rush of that passionate disturbance came over her again, making her heart beat and her eyes dilate.

And Hector saw and understood, and bit his lips, and clinched his hands together under the rug, because so great was his own emotion that he feared what he should say or do.  He dared not, dared not chance a dismissal from the joy of her presence forever, after this one day.

“I will wait until I know she loves me enough to certainly forgive me—­and then, and then—­” he said to himself.

But Fate, who was looking on, laughed while she chanted, “The hour is now at hand when these steeds of passion whose reins you have left loose so long will not ask your leave, noble friend, but will carry you whither they will.”

XI

They were both a little constrained upon the journey back to Versailles—­and both felt it.  But when they turned into the Porte St. Antoine Theodora woke up.

“Do you know,” she said, “something tells me that for a long, long time I shall not again have such a happy day.  It can’t be more than half-past five or six—­need we go back to the Reservoirs yet?  Could we not have tea at the little cafe by the lake?”