An Ambitious Man

As the young editor looked upon the girl before him, a passion of

yearning love took possession of him. A wild desire to seize her in

his arms and cover her pale face with kisses, made his heart throb to

suffocation and brought cold beads to his brow; and just as these

feelings gained an almost uncontrollable dominion over his reason,

will and judgment, the girl awoke and started to her feet in

confusion.

"Oh, Mr Cheney, pray forgive me!" she cried, looking more beautiful

than ever with the flush which overspread her face. "I came in to

ask about a word in your editorial which I could not decipher. I

waited for you, as I felt sure you would be in shortly--and I was so

TIRED I sat down for just a second to rest--and that is all I knew

about it. You must forgive me, sir!--I did not mean to intrude."

Her confusion, her appealing eyes, her magnetic voice were all fuel

to the fire raging in the young man's heart. Now that she was for

ever lost to him through his own deliberate action, she seemed

tenfold more dear and to be desired. Brain, soul, and body all

seemed to crave her; he took a step forward, and drew in a quick

breath as if to speak; and then a sudden sense of his own danger, and

an overwhelming disgust for his weakness swept over him, and the

intense passion the girl had aroused in his heart changed to

unreasonable anger.

"Miss Dumont," he said coldly, "I think we will have to dispense with

your services after to-night. Your duties are evidently too hard for

you. You can leave the office at any time you wish. Good-night."

The girl shrank as if he had struck her, looked up at him with wide,

wondering eyes, waited for a moment as if expecting to be recalled,

then, as Mr Cheney wheeled his chair about and turned his back upon

her, she suddenly sped away without a word.

She left the office a few moments later; but it was not until after

eleven o'clock that she dragged herself up two flights of stairs

toward her room on the attic floor at the Palace. She had been

walking the streets like a mad creature all that intervening time,

trying to still the agonising pain in her heart. Preston Cheney had

long been her ideal of all that was noble, grand and good, she

worshipped him as devout pagans worshipped their sacred idols; and,

without knowing it, she gave him the absorbing passion which an

intense woman gives to her lover.