"What the devil do you mean?"
She smiled at his roughness and held up her face so that he might see what she meant in her eyes. She stood up straight, young and slim and sweet,—her whole body radiating with love and joy and triumph.
And he looked and saw, gave a great cry like a shipwrecked man who sees the shore, and held her against his heart, out there in the night, under the stars, giving praise.
XLII
"Sorry you're going to leave us, sir," said Moffat, putting a pair of shoes into a chamois bag.
"Thanks," said Malcolm.
"Mr. Franklin told me that you're going to make straight for my village, sir,—London."
The valet chuckled at his little joke.
"Yes, London for the autumn, Paris for the winter, and probably back to New York for the spring."
"And very nice too, sir, I'm sure."