The sound of his name so moved him that he almost lost control. It sounded like a caress, it was as if she had kissed him. He told himself that he would count up the times she said it, from now until his final exit--treasure them in his mind and call them kisses. At this moment the gong for dinner boomed in the hall. It brought both of them back with a start to the present moment. Virgie put her hands to her eyes as if she had been dreaming. The man was first of all uncomfortably conscious of riding breeches and gaiters. "Good heavens, dinner, and I haven't dressed! I can't sit down with you like this!" "Oh, yes, please do," she said, rising from her seat with a new gaiety, as though a weight had rolled away. "Please don't keep me waiting while you dress, I am so hungry, and I want to show you my fine new appetite! Besides, Grover is sure to drive me upstairs at an unearthly hour, she has been clucking after me all day like an old mother hen, because, you see, I actually got out of bed to travel! So don't waste any more time, but just come in as you are." "I'll wash my hands--shan't be five minutes," he stammered out, the sudden, everyday intimacy breaking upon him like a fiery, hitherto untasted source of bliss. "Wait for me, won't you?" CHAPTER XXVI THE DIFFICULT PATH "_I will but say what mere friends say. Or only a thought stronger; I will hold your hand but as long as all may, Or so very little longer._"--R. Browning. When Gaunt entered the dining-room, his wife was standing before the fire, its red glow making her white dress and white arms rosy. Hemming was busily employed in fixing a screen at the back of her chair. "I asked Hemming to move my place," said she. "I hope you don't mind. I felt so far away, there at the end of the table. If I sit here we can talk much better." "A good idea." Gaunt hoped his voice sounded natural as he spoke. He hardly knew what he said, such was the turmoil within him that he wondered whether his own appetite would fail as hers had done when last they ate together. Yet he was, as a matter of fact, ravenously hungry; and the taking of food steadied him down and made him feel more normal. He found himself obliged, however, to leave the burden of conversation to her. She talked on bravely, about Dr. Danby and his kindness to Pansy, until, the servants having left the room to fetch the next course, she turned half-frightened, half-challenging eyes to her husband. "I'm afraid I'm 'prattling,' as you call it," she said deprecatingly. "Shall I leave off? I will, if I am teasing you." "Forgive me. I'm not really unresponsive--only a bit bewildered," he answered. "You know that nothing you could conceivably say could fail to interest me. Don't remind me of my unconverted days." She could not answer, for Hemming returned at the moment. She smiled and coloured.