“And I! I could be held by you forever.”
On the door came a tap, rapid and assured. A page entered, the preoccupation of the tip in his face, in his hand a platter of letters.
The man, taking the letters, dismissed him.
“Miss Ogston,” he continued. “From your father, confound him. It is the last time he will address you in that fashion. Miss Ogston,” he repeated. “From the Silverstairs, I fancy. Gulian Verplank. There is but one for me.”
He looked at his watch. “The launch from the yacht will be here shortly.”
“When do we start?”
“Whenever you like. The Marquesas will keep. Bora-Bora will be the same whenever we get there. Only——”
“Only what?”
“I am in love with you, not with hotels.”
“Let us go then. There will be a moon to-night?”