"Yes," Pamela promised, "I will do that. The rest, of course, remains with others. I do not myself go so far, even," she added, "as to declare myself in sympathy with you."
"And yet," he insisted, with swift violence, "it is your sympathy which I desire more than anything in the world—your sympathy, your help, your companionship; a little—a very little at first—of your love."
"I am afraid that I am not a very satisfactory person from that point of view," Pamela confessed. "I have a great sympathy with every man who is really out for the great things, but so far as you are concerned, Mr. Fischer, or any one else," she went on, after a moment's hesitation, "I have no personal feeling."
"That shall come," he declared.
"Then please wait a little time before you talk to me again like this," she said, rising and holding out her hand. "At present there is no sign of it."
"There is so much that I could offer you," he pleaded, gripping the hand which she had given him in farewell, "so much that I could do for your country. Believe me, I am not talking idly."
"I do believe that," she admitted. "You are a very clever man, Mr. Fischer, and I think that you represent all that you claim. Perhaps, if we really do negotiate—"
"But you must!" he interrupted impatiently. "You must listen to me for every reason—politically for your country's sake, personally because I shall offer you and give you happiness and a position you could never find elsewhere."
For a moment her eyes seemed to be looking through him, as though some vision of things outside the room were troubling her. Her finger had already touched the bell and a servant was standing upon the threshold.
"We shall meet in Washington," Mr. Fischer concluded, with an air of a prophet, as he took his leave.