“Believe you? As a man, yes! As an officer of the United States, no. It is not for me to believe or disbelieve. It is for me to obey. My orders were to cable what I knew. That means that I am to telegraph any later information. But, pardon me, the ten minutes are up. I must write my dispatch and go!”
He turned away, resolutely enough to all appearances. His tones were even and his manner calm. But the countess guessed that beneath the mask his heart was storming madly. She knew men, did the countess Elsa! She had met Topham’s quiet sort before.
With a sudden movement she flung her hand across the telegraph blank.
“In Berlin you asked me to marry you,” she breathed. “Do you still wish me to do so?”
Topham’s eyes flamed. “Marry me! Marry me!” he groaned. “God knows I want it more than—more than—”
“Then do not send that message, and I will marry you at once—within the hour. I will abandon my plans; give up my life work; break my oath to the dead. I will be yours to do with as you will. Only—only I ask—Forget what has happened here tonight. Do not wire it! Do not speak of it! Let it be as if it had never been. Am I not worth it, beloved? Ah! Don’t you know that I will make up to you for it all?”
Her face was very near his; her glowing eyes beamed into his; the soft fragrance of her breath fanned his cheeks. But he set his face like flint.
“No!” he said.
“Then tell the President what you like when you see him. But do not telegraph.”
“No!”