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Desmond grinned cheerfully.

“My future brother-in-law, I imagine. And I rather fancy that I shall be looking for a new housekeeper in the not very distant future. Now then, I really must go.”

Just for a moment Judith clung to him. After all, he represented the past, had been one of her few friends.

And Desmond, recognising the gesture for what it was, gave her a warm, brotherly hug and kissed her soundly.

‘That’s for good-bye,” he told her. “I am going to be very busy for the short time that is left before we go, and I may not have time to come again,” his voice broke suddenly. “Bless you, darling,” he said, and hurried out of the room. "

Judith took a few steps as if to follow him, but, with an understanding that she would not have had a short while ago, she halted. Unless she could have gone to Des and told him that she loved him, it was better to let him go like this, keeping his chin up, pretending, for her sake, that everything was all right.

Yet she waited a little while before, slowly, she went up to Charles’s room.

He was sleeping peacefully now, and instead of lying so quiet and straight, had turned on one side and was hunched up as a small boy might be.

Judith’s lips curved tenderly. He was so strong, and yet, at this moment, his face was so young, so vulnerable. She bent nearer, tracing each beloved feature of his sleeping face with love-filled eyes.

She dared to believe now that Charles loved her, and yet she knew that she wanted to hear him say it, that nothing else would carry that last little fortress of doubt. Anything so wonderful could not be true.

And as if, even in his sleep, Charles knew of her need, he suddenly stirred and opened his eyes. For a moment they wandered vaguely and then they centred on her face.

His lips parted.

“Hallo, my darling,” he said weakly and put up his hand to find hers.

Very gently Judith laid it in his, and with a little sigh of satisfaction Charles went to sleep again, a smile on his lips.

CHARLES’S progress was reassuringly steady and, contrary to the doctor’s prophecy, he proved an extremely amenable convalescent.

He was, in fact, completely docile and very patient, and Miss Harriet, waiting on him, had difficulty in keeping from smiling. There was, however, a twinkle in her eye that defied all her control, but this Charles, usually so observant, failed to notice.

Nor did it appear to worry her that in spite of her request to help her aunt, Judith showed positive reluctance to go into Charles’s room. To Judith’s immense relief, Miss Harriet did not even comment on the fact.

But the truth of the matter was that Judith, madly happy though she was, was suddenly shy in Charles’s presence. While he had been completely helpless it had been a different matter, but now that he was sitting propped up in bed he looked so much like his usual self, so fit and so essentially masculine that Judith found it difficult to talk naturally. And she had to, for since that one tender greeting when, for all she knew, he might have mistaken her for Linda, he had not said another word to suggest that he cared for her.

It was not that she disbelieved Linda or the evidence of her own ears, but—but—why did he say nothing? The old Judith, had she wanted an answer to a question, would have asked for it straight out, but this was different. Ignorant though she was of the ways of a woman, instinct told her that the first move must come from him. Until he chose to speak, she must wait as patiently as she could, the prey to changing moods of utter bliss or black despair.

She found refuge in talking to him of matters connected with the farm. The local Agricultural Show was, of course, indefinitely postponed with foot-and-mouth in the district, but so far reports showed that the outbreak was confined to Shawbury’s farm, thanks more to the fact of its isolation than any care of his. He was, of course, as they had expected, in trouble both for not having reported the outbreak and also, knowing it, for having intended moving cattle to another farm. Both Charles and Judith would have to give evidence, but the case would not come up for some time. In the meantime Judith plunged into masses of information about the day-to-day work, spoke approvingly of the new hand, and told Charles that she thought Joe was sufficiently responsible now to be promoted to work that, only a short time ago, she would have hesitated to entrust to him. To all this Charles listened with interest, making a suggestion here and there, giving a word of commendation that brought the colour to Judith’s cheeks. But as to more personal matters, he said nothing.

“I think I shall persuade the doctor to allow me up pretty soon,” he told her one day. “Then at least I can give you a hand in the office.”

Judith caught her breath. To have him so near, to be so constantly with him—it would be difficult, almost impossible to hide her feelings.

“Oh, but you mustn’t,” she said quickly. “I can manage ...”

Charles looked at her quizzically, his head on one side.

“Anyone would think that you don’t want me about,” he commented. “I suppose—you’re not thinking of sacking me yet, are you, Judith? Not until you are twenty-one! I am going to keep you to that.”

“Oh, don’t be absurd. You know perfectly well—” she began incoherently.

“What do I know, Judith?” he asked softly, touching her hand with gentle fingers. “Tell me.”

But Judith had taken sudden alarm. She backed away from the bedside, saying breathlessly:

“You must excuse me—I think I heard Aunt Harriet calling,” and scuttled out of the room. Charles, strange to say, did not seem in the least bit put out. Indeed, his lips were curved in a smile and his eyes were very tender.

After that, she definitely made excuses not to be alone with Charles until there came a day when, as Miss Harriet was just about to go upstairs with his tea-tray, the telephone bell rang. She thrust the tray into Judith’s hands just as she was going to answer it and said in a way that was uncommonly fussy and flurried for her:

“Dear, dear, that will be Mrs. Gabbett. I expected her to call, but I asked her particularly to leave it until after six o’clock. Take the tray up, Judith, or the boy’s tea will be cold! Have a cup with him—I was going to, but goodness knows when I’ll get rid of this woman.” So Judith had no choice. She went slowly upstairs and knocked at Charles’s door. A cheerful voice told her to come in and, balancing the tray on one hand, she obeyed. With her eyes lowered to the level of her burden she said a little breathlessly:

“Aunt Harriet got caught on the. telephone so I had to bring it. Oh!”

For suddenly she had realised that Charles was no longer in bed. He was sitting in a chair by the window dressed in grey flannels and a white shirt, and he was smiling—smiling in a way that made Judith’s heart suddenly pound.

“I didn’t know ” she gasped.

“I thought it would be a surprise for you,” he said easily. “I’ve had orders not to do anything or I’d pull the little table up.” He made a movement as if it irked him to sit still and, orders or no, he intended helping her, but Judith shook her head. He must sit still. If he got up, towering above her, she would drop the tray and run away.

“I can manage,” she insisted. She set the tray on the foot of the bed while she pulled up the table close to him and then began to pour out the tea. She was acutely conscious of his watchful eyes and, meeting them, found that her own dropped. Hastily she picked up the sugar tongs and lifted a lump to put into his cup, only to feel his hand descend on hers.

“Not again, Judith,” he told her, and when she so obviously did not understand what he meant, added:

“You sugared it before you poured out.”

“Did I?” she asked in quick confusion. “I had forgotten.”

They sipped tea in silence until Judith realised that he was not eating anything. And very primly and rather reproachfully, in the way that a good nurse might speak, Judith called his attention to it.

“M’m?” he said as if his thoughts had been miles away. “Oh, yes, of course. Only it’s a little bit difficult, you know. Men never do have an adequate lap for afternoon tea, and with these wretched bandages, I’m even more left-handed than usual. I suppose,” he said doubtfully, “you couldn’t be an angel and help me, could you? Your aunt always does.”

“Yes—of course,” Judith began hurriedly. “If I cut everything up small.”

“And pop the bits into my mouth,” he suggested, and then, seeing the doubt in her face, he sighed and added wistfully:.“They say that one always feels stronger in bed than one actually is. Perhaps I ought not ”

Instantly Judith was on her knees beside him, cutting his scone and butter into tiny pieces and feeding him as one would a child.

One—two—three—four mouthfuls. Judith felt the colour in her cheeks betraying her. It seemed to mount and retreat with every beat of her heart. So close to him, actually feeling the touch of his lips on her fingers.

Very gently Judith felt the plate being taken away from her and then Charles’s hand was under her chin, forcing her face up so that he could look into it. Her long lashes swept her cheeks. “

“Judith!” he whispered, “Judith! Look at me!”

Slowly yet not unwillingly, her lids lifted and her eyes met his.

Charles gave a little exclamation in which triumph and impatience were blended. Then he stood up, gently lifting her to her feet, and took her into his arms. And Judith found that it did not need words for him to convince her of his love.

It was a long time before, suddenly, Judith remembered that, after all, he was still an invalid.

“Please, please, my darling!” she begged as he refused to let her go. “You must sit down, I couldn’t bear that anything should go wrong—now.”

He laughed ruefully.

“I suppose you are right. I have an idea, you know, young woman, that I am going to be a completely hen-pecked husband.”

“No!” she said, fervently. “Never that. I promise you. But please, please !”

Charles looked down into the anxious, loving little face and his heart seemed suddenly too big for his body. She was his, all his, and for nobody else would she ever look like that. He held her to him closely and tasted again the sweetness of her surrender. Then he sat down, but he did not let go of her hand.

“Sit on the arm,” he suggested. “And put your arm round my shoulders—that’s it.” His head made a slight, confident movement and came to rest against the curve of her shoulder and throat. For a time silence was all-sufficient; then Charles said masterfully:

“You are going to marry me, not Desmond.”

“Yes,” Judith said in a small voice, and added: “Desmond is going to America—and Linda!”

“Are they?” he said in surprise. “That’s sudden, isn’t it? What are they planning to do there?”

“Desmond has got a job and Linda is going to keep house for him—until she gets married,” Judith explained and waited, holding her breath, to see how he took that.

“Married, eh?” Charles said calmly, and then, with more interest: “Wait a minute, I bet I can tell you his name! Carl Brand—American, rather a rugged sort of face but extremely good-natured.”

“Yes,” Judith admitted. “I—I think he is very fond of her. And,” she added with an odd little assumption of authority that made Charles smile, “that will make all the difference to Linda. Nobody has minded very much before what happened to her, and so—she got hard. But she is different now.”

“I’m glad,” Charles said, and meant it—for Judith’s sake. For his own, he was frankly glad that Linda would not be living in the district. It would simplify life considerably, however much she had altered for the better. “And—Desmond?”

“Desmond—” Judith began, and paused. It was tempting to tell Charles everything—especially her own feeling of guilt because she did not love Desmond as he loved her. Then she remembered that she had told Desmond she believed that he was trying to make things easier for her. It was true, of course. But he was saving his own pride as well in releasing her of his own free will. And the least that she could do was back him up. “Desmond is very glad to be making a fresh start,” she said quietly. “And—we parted good friends.”

Charles took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

“You adorable child,” he said softly, exactly as if he could read between the lines, but Judith stiffened ever so slightly.

“I am
not
a child!” she said firmly.

“Aren’t you?” Charles asked teasingly. “What are you, then?”

A delicious smile curved Judith’s lips and something sparkled in her eyes—coquetry, the knowledge that she was loved.

“Suppose you tell me,” she suggested demurely.

Startled, Charles sat up so that he could look into her face, and what he saw there sent the blood tingling through his veins.

“I will!” he vowed and pulled her down on to his knees. “No, you’re not such a heavy weight, nor am I so frail that I shall hurt myself. Be quiet—and listen.”

And breathlessly, Judith waited.

“You are the only woman I have ever loved,” he said adoringly, using, perhaps unknowingly, the very words that Linda had repeated to Judith. “The only one I have ever wanted to marry.”

For a moment his eyes lingered on the small face so close to his. Then his lips met hers tenderly and yet with a passion that was unmistakable for all its restraint.

There was no room left now for any doubt. Judith, no longer scorning her sex, knew that she had found the crowning glory of a woman.

She loved—and she was loved.