A week ago she would have been content to have dawdled away the afternoon in the grounds of the villa.
Something different had come.

From the moment she had entered the rooms, although she had never acknowledged it, she had been conscious, pleasurably conscious of his presence.

She was suddenly uneasy.
"I am afraid," she murmured, "that you are quite hopeless." "If you mean that I am without hope, you are wrong," he answered sturdily.

"From the moment I met you I have had but one thought, and until the last day of my life I shall have but one thought, and that thought is of you.

There may be no end of difficulties, but I come of an obstinate race.