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“Oh—” Lucy frowned. “I don’t know really. I just felt I had to. That it would be a load off my mind if I did.”

“That suggested you felt you owed him something,” Owen suggested curiously.

“I think I did,” Lucy admitted.

“But, my darling girl,” Owen protested, “that’s nonsense!”

“Not really,” Lucy insisted earnestly. “You see, there was a time when I blamed him for what had happened —I almost hated him. And then I realised that actually he and I had done exactly the same thing.”

“Indeed?” Owen raised his dark brows. “How do you make that out?”

“Why, don’t you see, if—if I had really loved him I would have kept on loving him, no matter what he had done. One does, if it’s the real thing.”

“So—” Owen prompted, his arms tightening round her again.

“So—I knew that I had never been really in love with him. If I had, I simply couldn’t have—fallen in love with someone else. So I can hardly blame him for changing his mind when I’ve done exactly the same thing, can I?” Lucy finished triumphantly.

“No, my adorable sweet, I don’t suppose you can— being you,” Owen agreed, worship in his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t feel quite so benevolently disposed towards Marion, though."

“Oh—’’ Lucy said doubtfully. “Well, that is rather different—I mean, if she meant to—to do harm—"

“She meant to do that, all right," Owen said grimly. “But, like a fool, I didn’t realise it until almost too late—"

“But it doesn't matter now, does it?" Lucy asked anxiously. “It hasn’t made any difference, in the end, has it?"

“No," Owen admitted. “All the same, I hope I never see her again."

“But aren’t you almost bound to? I mean, your work and hers—you can hardly avoid seeing her."

“Marion has decided to give up her career," Owen said indifferently. “She’s going to marry Kelsall."

“But—" Lucy gasped.

“I know. There are a whole lot of ‘buts’ about it—to you and me. But not apparently to them. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?"

Lucy nodded. She was more than willing to leave Marion in the past—and even more thankful that Owen would be able to.

“Yes," she agreed. “There are lots of nicer things to talk about than that."

“For instance?" he asked, running his finger along the soft line of her chin.

“Us," Lucy suggested. “For instance, when did you know you’d fallen in love with me?"

He smiled down into her upturned face. If his precious little Lucy could ask that question so confidently, then all was well. She believed in him, and she was no longer afraid of him.

“I had a shrewd suspicion very early on," he confessed. “When I realised, looking at that photograph, that it should have given me considerable pleasure to bash that young man’s face in for having hurt you!"

“Oh!" Lucy looked astonished. “As soon as that! But when did you know for sure?”

Owen laughed softly.

“Inquisitive!” he chided lovingly. “When you sang
Annie Laurie!
Remember? The last two lines?
'And for bonnie Annie Laurie
,
I'd lay me doon and dee!"
Then. Because I knew that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for you—” He caught her close, and the moments passed.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Lucy said reproachfully at last.

“Because I was afraid of its being too soon,” Owen explained. “We’d started off so badly. I not only had to wait until you could forgive me for that, little love, but I had to stand back and leave you to discover for yourself that not all men are false and fickle—though I did warn you that you must not lose faith in your own judgment or be afraid that no one could prove to be trustworthy.”

“So you did,” Lucy marvelled. “But it never occurred to me that you could be referring to yourself, because I knew, even at the beginning, that you could be trusted. Besides, it would have seemed too wonderful—”

“Would it?” Owen buried his face in her soft hair, lest she should be frightened by the depths of feeling her words had aroused in him. “And when did you discover that, sweetheart?”

“Coming back from the pool, that last day. when I stumbled!” How extraordinary it was that she could speak of that to him so confidently. “I think, in a way, I had known before, but then I knew for sure!”

“And I so nearly told you then!” Owen regretted. “And for that matter, on the Grande Corniche—the day you saw Corbett in Nice. What a lot of time I’ve wasted! And that reminds me. I’d have come to see you before, darling, but Aunt Louise has been desperately ill. So bad, in fact, that for a few days we were afraid—”

“Oh, Owen!” Anxiety swept all the happiness from her sensitive face. “But now? Is she better?”

“Pulling round nicely,” Owen assured her. “In fact, she was well enough to tell me that if I could give you my love, I could give you hers as well! And Uncle Stanley sent much the same message—in the same circumstances.”

“The darlings!” Lucy said affectionately. “They’ve both been so sweet to me!”

“And small wonder,” Owen told her ardently, and took some time to explain why.

When, at last, a rosy, happy Lucy broke from his arms to say that they really must go and explain to her mother who he was, Owen laughed.

“Oh, she knew I was coming,” he announced. “I telephoned to her last night asking her to do her best to see that you were in when I got here— and not to tell you I was coming in case you ran away again!”

Lucy bubbled with sudden laughter.

“She did more than that! She made me wash my hair so that I didn’t look too much of a scarecrow when you arrived!”

“And that reminds me,” Owen began promptly. “Your hair—”

But Lucy kept him at arms’ length.

“Not any more—not yet!” she begged, but Owen, charmed by the last two words, took no notice, and in the haven of his arms Lucy found the courage to ask, softly:

“Do you remember asking me once what my world was?”

“I remember. And you were not at all sure.”

“I am now,” she whispered shyly. “It’s
your
world, Owen. For always, whatever or wherever that world may be—”

It was a considerable time before, at last, they went in search of Mrs. Darvill.