Flower for a Bride by Barbara Rowan Page B

and then wildly embarrassed. But the rush of embarrassed color to her face was not soon enough to prevent him noticing how peaked and pale her normal appearance had become, and she had even lost the light coating of golden tan she had acquired on the beach. There were heavy purple smudges under her eyes, and the eyes themselves looked wan and lack-lustre.
    ‘'Why didn’t you let me know that you had had an accident?” he asked, rather sternly—and crazily enough the thought that leapt through her mind was a recollection of something her aunt had said, immediately after her arrival from England, about a man of Dom Julyan’s status not attempting to enter a woman’s bedroom unless he was invited. He had certainly not entered Jay’s, and he had not been invited to do so. But she, Lois, hadn’t even been aware of his arrival in the hotel—and here he was!
    The chambermaid had retreated, and the door was closed behind him, and he was looking down at her where she lay in her long rattan chair with an expression in his eyes that was as reproving as his voice.
    ‘ ‘How long have you been out of action like this?”
    “Only three days.”
    ‘‘Three days?” He looked round the rather bare hotel room—for Aunt Harriet had been careful to book her one of the least expensive ones on the top floor—and his eyes narrowed a little. “And you’ve spent most of those three days up here?”
    “Yes. But I’ve a wonderful view of the sea,” her eyes going to the tall window that was standing open on to the tiny balcony which wouldn’t accommodate a long chair. “And everyone has been very kind.”
    He made a non-committal observation, and she invited him shyly to be seated. She couldn’t imagine why he had come to see her even now, or why he had troubled to come all the way up to her room—overcoming rigid Portuguese principles before permitting himself to do so, no doubt— and having arrived in the room looked extremely displeased about something.
    “Mattie wanted me to collect you and ask you to have lunch with her,” he explained, refusing the chair she offered him, “and we though perhaps you might consider spending the rest of the day at the quinta. But when I asked for you at the reception desk they told me you were the victim of a sprained ankle, and that it would be an effort for you to come downstairs. So I hope you will forgive me for intruding upon you
    m the way I have done, but there was no other means of finding out how you were, or having any conversation with you,” in a formal voice.
    “I see,” she said, and suddenly she was so much touched that someone had thought of her—and that someone her own countrywoman who must have known what it was to feel lonely and cut off sometimes amongst people who didn’t naturally speak her own language—that the weak tears came to her eyes, and she had to blink her eyelids rapidly to prevent him from seeing them. “That was very kind of Miss Gregg—very kind of you both,” she told him. “Not at all.” He was frowning. “How did this accident happen?”
    She told him, and his frown grew more noticeable.
    “It is not a good thing for a girl of your age to be holidaying alone. And from the look of you it has not been a very enjoyable holiday so far. When do you propose to return to England?”
    “I thought I would remain until the weekend,” she said. “That means you have only another couple of days.” He walked to the window and stood looking out at the sparkling sea. “Would it be too much to suggest that you come back with me to lunch now? If your ankle isn’t too painful I could wait outside for you until you are ready, and if necessary I can carry you to the lift, and outside to the car. It seems to me that this room is a little depressing, and a change would be good for you.”
    “Oh!” she exclaimed, and suddenly the tears were back in her eyes. “That would be lovely! I mean,” she added hastily, as he turned and looked at her and she