"The one thing outside," he answered, "the desire of my brain. The
desire of my heart is here."
She lay in his arms, her lips moved to his and the moments passed
uncounted. Then, with a queer little cry, she stood up, covered her
face for a moment with her hands and then held them both out to him.
"Dear man," she begged, "dearest of all men--will you go now?
To-morrow--whenever you have time--let your servant ring up. I will
free myself from any engagement--but please!"
He kissed her fingers and passed out with a murmured word. He knew so
little of women and yet some wonderful instinct kept him always in the
right path. Perhaps, too, he feared speech himself, lest the ecstasy of
those few moments might be broken.
CHAPTER XVII
This is how a weekly paper of indifferent reputation but immense
circulation brought Tallente's love affair to a crisis. In a column
purporting to set out the editor's curiosity upon certain subjects, the
following paragraphs appeared:
Whether a distinguished member of the Democratic Party is not considered
just now the luckiest man in the world of politics and love.
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