Читать книгу The End of the House of Alard онлайн

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"How lovely! Shall you come and live here?"

"Yes."

The monosyllable came gruffly because of the much more that he wanted to say. It was a shame to have such reserves spoil their first meeting.

"I'm so awfully, wonderfully glad, Peter darling."

She hid her soft, glowing face in his neck—she was lying on his breast like a child, but deliciously heavy, her feet swung off the floor.

"Stella—my sweetheart—beautiful. . . ."

His love for her gave him a sweet wildness of heart, and he who was usually slow of tongue, became almost voluble——

"Oh, I've longed for this—I've thought of this, dreamed of this. . . . And you're lovelier than ever, you dear. . . . Stella, sweetheart, let me look into your eyes—close to—like that . . . your eyelashes turn back like the petals of a flower. . . . O you wonderful, beautiful thing . . . And it's so lovely we should have met here instead of at home—the dearest person in the dearest place . . . Stella at Starvecrow."

"Starvycrow," she repeated gently.

For a moment he felt almost angry that she should have used his name—his private music. But his anger melted into his love. She used his name because she, alone in all the world, felt his feelings and thought his thoughts. Perhaps she did not love Starvecrow quite as he did, but she must love it very nearly as much or she would not call it by its secret name. They sat in silence, her head upon his shoulder, his arms about her, gathering her up on his knees. On the hearth a log fire softly hummed and sighed. Ages seemed to flow over them, the swift eternities of love. . . . Then suddenly a voice called "Stella!" from the drive.