“I am an admirer of Napoleon,” returned the Senator from Stackpole. “I admire all great men.”
“He said that he held men by his reserve.”
“It can be done,” observed Alonzo, and stopped, feeling that it was more reserved to add nothing to the sentence.
“But I suppose that such a policy,” she smiled upon him inquiringly, “wouldn't have helped him much with women?”
“No,” he agreed immediately. “My opinion is that a man ought to tell a good woman everything. What is more sacred than—”
The car, turning a corner much too quickly, performed a gymnastic squirm about an unexpected street-car and the speech ended in a gasp, as Alonzo, not of his own volition, half rose and pressed his cheek closely against hers. Instantaneous as it was, his heart leaped violently, but not with fear. Could all the things of his life that had seemed beautiful have been compressed into one instant, it would not have brought him even the suggestion of the wild shock of joy of that one, wherein he knew the glamorous perfume of Mrs. Protheroe's brown hair and felt her cold cheek firm against his, with only the grey veil between.
“I'm afraid this driver of mine will kill me some day,” she said, laughing and composedly straightening her hat. “Do you care for big machines?”
“Yes ma'am,” he answered huskily. “I haven't been in many.”
“Then I'll take you again,” said Mrs. Protheroe. “If you like I'll come down to the State house and take you out for a run in the country.”
“When?” said the lost young man, staring at her with his mouth open. “When?”