“Anna,” he cried eagerly.
She held out her arms to him and smiled.
“And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?”
“Deserters,” she answered, laughing. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. Here are their letters.”
He took them from her and read them. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her.
“So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving.”
“Please tell me why?” she asked.
“Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. You have made your public, you are already a personage. And I want you for myself—for my wife.”
She took his hand and smiled upon him.