“No, thank you,” Yamina replied.

She knew that she was waiting for Lord Castleford’s return. She was not quite certain whether she was apprehensive, frightened or eager.

It was difficult to sort out her feelings concerning him, and yet when several hours later he did come she knew exactly what would happen.

She was standing at the porthole looking out into the sunlight, hoping to catch a glimpse of the many islands they must pass as they moved through the Aegean Sea, when she heard the door open.

For a moment she did not move.

She knew who it was and heard him shut the door and bolt it.

Then very slowly she turned round.

The sun was on his face and the expression in his eyes as he looked at her made her heart turn over in her breast.

Slowly he walked across the room and she waited for him as she felt she must have waited through all eternity.

He reached her.

Then after a long moment he said,

“It is true! I thought I must have been dreaming!”

“What is – true?” she asked, her eyes on his.

“That you are more beautiful than I believed possible for any woman to be.”

There was silence before he said in a low voice,

“Last night I thought you must have been a Goddess, but today I know that you are human.”

He drew in his breath and then he said,

“Yamina, what has happened? How could it be possible that I should feel like this?”

“Like – what?” Yamina asked, and it was difficult to speak.

He did not touch her and yet, as his eyes lingered on her lips, she felt as if he kissed her.

After a moment he answered,

“When I was in India, I heard a man singing one night as I stood on the verandah of a bungalow up in the hills.”

Yamina’s eyes were on Lord Castleford’s face as he went on,

“I asked one of my friends to translate the words of the song and they were,

‘To love or not, we are no more free,

Than a ripple to rise and leave the sea’.”

There was silence and then Yamina asked,

“Is what you – feel – love?”

“I don’t know,” Lord Castleford replied. “If it is, I have never been in love before. The next lines of the song were,

‘I am always the slave of this,

The burning fire of your lips’ sweet kiss’.”

As he spoke, he put out his arms slowly and drew Yamina towards him.

It was a movement so different in every way from the violence with which he had taken her last night. Now it was as if he calculated and savoured every moment.

Then, as her head fell back against his shoulder, his lips sought hers.

Again it was different from the night before, because his mouth was gentle and tender, almost as if he was wooing her.