Amaryllis lowered her head in a sweet confusion; her feelings were no less aroused. She was thrilling with passionate welcome and delicious shyness. Nature was indeed ruling them both, and with a glad "Darling Angel!" Denzil sat down beside her and clasped her in his arms. Then for a few seconds delirious pleasure was all that they knew. "Let me look at you again, Sweetheart," he ordered presently, with a tone of command and possession in his very deep voice, which caused Amaryllis delight. It made her feel that she really belonged to him. "To me you have never been so beautiful--and every scrap of you is mine." "Absolutely yours." "I had to come--I cannot help whether it is right or wrong. I must go back to the Front as soon as I am fit, and I could not have borne to go without seeing you, darling one." They had a hundred things to say to each other about themselves--and about the baby, and the next hour was very sacred and wonderful. Denzil was a superlatively perfect lover and knew the immense value of tender words. He intoxicated Amaryllis' imagination with the moving things he said. Alas! how many worthy men miss themselves, and make their loved ones miss the best part of life's joys by their mulish silence and refusal to gratify this desire of all women to be _told_ that they are loved, to have the fact expressed in passionate speech! No deeds make up for this omission. Denzil had none of these limitations; he said everything which could cajole and excite the imagination. He murmured a hundred affecting tendernesses in her ears. He caressed her--he commanded and mastered her, and then assured her that he was her slave. He was arrogant and humble--arrogant when he claimed her love, humble in his worship. He spoke of the child and what it meant to him that it should be his and hers. He caused her to feel that he was strong and protective and that she was to be cherished and adored. He made pictures of how it would be if he could spend a whole day and night with her presently in June, when she would be quite well, and of how thrilled with interest he would be to see the baby, and that, of course, it _must_ be exactly like himself! And Amaryllis' eyes, all soft and swimming with emotion answered him. Naturally, since she loved him so passionately, it would be his image! Had not his own mother accounted for his pronounced Ardayre stamp by her having been so in love with his father--so, of course, this would re-occur! It was all dear to think about! They spent another hour of divine intoxication, and then the clock struck six. It sounded like a knell. Amaryllis gave a little cry.