The news of the impending application, published in the morning papers, had crowded the court room. When the Judge finished a tremendous cheer went up. The cheer passed on to the throng outside, and when Davy and Hugo appeared in the corridor they were borne upon the shoulders of workingmen and were not released until they had made speeches. Davy's manly simplicity and clearness covered the stammering vagueness of hero Galland.
As Davy was gradually clearing himself of the eager handshakers and back-slappers, Selma suddenly appeared before him. Her eyes were shining and her whole body seemed to be irradiating emotion of admiration and gratitude. "Thank you—oh, thank you!" she said, pressing his hand. "How I have misjudged you!"
Davy did not wince. He had now quite forgotten the part selfish ambition had played in his gallant rush to the defense of imperilled freedom—had forgotten it as completely as the now ecstatic Hugo had forgotten his prejudices against the "low, smelly working people." He looked as exalted as he felt. "I only did my plain duty," replied he. "How could any decent American have done less?"
"I haven't seen Victor since yesterday afternoon," pursued Selma. "But I know how grateful he'll be—not so much for what you did as that YOU did it."
The instinct of the crowd—the universal human instinct—against intruding upon a young man and young woman talking together soon cleared them of neighbors. An awkward silence fell. Said he hesitatingly:
"Are you ready to give your answer?—to that question I asked you the other day."
"I gave you my answer then," replied she, her glance seeking a way of escape.
"No," said he. "For you said then that you would not marry me. And I shall never take no for an answer until you have married some one else."
She looked up at him with eyes large and grave and puzzled. "I'm sure you don't want to marry me," she said. "I wonder why you keep asking me."
"I have to be honest with you," said Davy. "Somehow you bring out all the good there is in me. So, I can't conceal anything from you. In a way I don't want to marry you. You're not at all the woman I have always pictured as the sort I ought to marry and would marry. But—Selma, I love you. I'd give up anything—even my career—to get you. When I'm away from you I seem to regain control of myself. But just as soon as I see you, I'm as bad as ever again."