“My friend!” she cried, holding out her hands—“my dear, dear friend! Shall I ever be able to thank you enough?”
“Why, if you try,” he answered, smiling, “I think that you could!”
She laid her hand upon his arm—a little caressing, foreign gesture.
“Tell me,” she said, “how did you manage it?”
“We left the dance together,” Jermyn said. “I could see that he wanted to get rid of me, but I offered to take him in my motor car. I told the man to choose some back streets, and while we were passing through one of them, I took Von Hern by the throat. We had a struggle, of course, but I got the paper.”
“What did you do with Von Hern?” she asked.
“I left him on his doorstep,” the young American answered. “He wasn’t really hurt, but he was only half conscious. I don’t think he’ll bother any one to-night.”
“You dear, brave man!” she murmured. “Paul, what am I to say to you?”
He laughed.
“That’s what I’m here to ask,” he declared. “You wouldn’t give me my answer at the ball. Perhaps you’ll give it me now?”