“My young friend,” he said, “I have lived in the world so long and seen so many strange things, especially between men and women, that I am never surprised at anything. I thought you'd shed your follies as your grip upon life had tightened, but one is never sure.”
Tavernake sighed.
“Oh, I have shed the worst of my follies!” he answered. “I only wish—”
He never finished his sentence. Elizabeth had suddenly seen him. For a moment she leaned forward as though to assure herself that she was not mistaken. Then she half sprang to her feet and sat down again. Her lips were parted—she was once more bewilderingly beautiful.
“Mr. Tavernake,” she cried, “come and speak to me at once.”
Tavernake rose without hesitation, and walked firmly across the few yards which separated them. She held out both her hands.
“This is wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You in New York! And I have wondered so often what became of you.”
Tavernake smiled.
“It is my first night here,” he said. “For two years I have been prospecting in the far west.”
“Then I saw your name in the papers,” she declared. “It was for the Manhattan Syndicate, wasn't it?”