Truxton King

"Forgive me," he said. "I was hasty, inconsiderate. I--"

"You quite took my breath away," she panted, looking up at him with a queer little smile.

"I know," he murmured.

Her troubled gaze resumed its sober contemplation of the flame.

"How was I to tell--" she began, but checked herself. "Please, Mr. King, you won't say anything more to me about--about it,--just now, will you? Shall we talk of our plans for to-night? Tell me about them."

He lowered his eyes, suddenly disheartened. "I only ask you to believe that I am desperately in earnest."

"I cannot comprehend how--I mean, it is so very wonderful. You don't think me unappreciative, or mean, do you?"

"Of course not. You are startled, that's all. I'm a blundering fool. Still, you must agree that I was frightfully bowled over when I found that you were not what I thought. I couldn't hold back, that's all. By Jove, isn't it wonderful? Here I've been looking all over the world for you, only to find that you've been living around the corner from me all these years! It's positively staggering! Why," with a sudden burst of his unquenchable buoyancy, "we might have been married two years ago and saved all this trouble. Just think of it!"

She smiled. "I do like you," she said warmly, giving him her hand. He kissed it gallantly and stepped back--resolutely.

"That's something," he said with his humblest, most conquering smile.

"You won't leave me to my fate because you think I'm going to marry--some one else?"

He grew very sober. "Miss Tullis, you and I have one chance in a thousand. You may as well know the truth."

"Oh, I can't bear the thought of that dreadful old man," she cried, abject distress in her eyes.

He gritted his teeth and turned away. She went back to the corner, dully rearranging the coat he had given her for comfort. She handled it with a tenderness that would have astonished the garment had it been capable of understanding. For a long time she watched him in silence as he paced to and fro like a caged lion. Twice she heard him mutter: "An American girl--good Lord," and she found herself smiling to herself--the strange, vagrant smile that comes of wonder and self-gratification.

Late in the afternoon--long hours in which they had spoken to each other with curious infrequency, each a prey to sombre thoughts--their door was unlocked and Anna Cromer appeared before them, accompanied by two of the men. Crisply she commanded the girl to come forth; she wanted to talk with her.

She was in the outer room for the better part of an hour, listening to Anna Cromer and Madame Drovnask, who dinned the praises of the great Count Marlanx into her ears until she was ready to scream. They bathed the girl's face and brushed her hair and freshened her garments. It occurred to her that she was being prepared for a visit of the redoubtable Marlanx himself, and put the question plainly.