Two weeks passed, and still they all remained in San Francisco; but the next day was to see them on their way to Washington; the President had sent an imperative summons for all to join him at once.
Junius Cobb had seen Marie every one of these days; had walked and driven and been her escort everywhere. In fact, he had been by her side during every moment that propriety would allow. A new life seemed opened to him; he laughed and chatted like the gayest; he was witty and bright, and the old expression of sorrow had vanished from his face.
He seemed to live in her smiles, to be supremely happy in her presence. He was in love; this time he knew it. Did he ever think of little Marie Colchis? Yes, often and often, and the divinity he now worshiped seemed to him as if risen from the soul of her, and that in loving the former he still maintained his allegiance to the latter. Leona, to him, was his old love Marie. He could not explain the semblance, yet he saw that it existed. He loved Leona Bennett; he thought of Marie Colchis.
Sitting by her side that evening, in the small, cozy library, whither he had gently led her, and whither she had gladly, willingly gone, he quietly said, “Miss Bennett, you return to Washington to-morrow?”
Turning her large blue eyes upon him, she asked, “And do you not go, too, Mr. Cobb?”
“It all depends,” he answered, nervously.
“Why, I thought it was all settled. Mollie told me that you were to go. Have you changed your mind, Mr. Cobb?”
“I dislike to return to Washington,” he continued, not heeding her question, “unless I can do so with a lighter heart than I took away with me when I left.”
“You ought to go there with the greatest pleasure. Your name is famous throughout the world,” and she looked proudly upon him; proud of the man she loved.
“But fame is not all that man craves,” he returned.