It was a new man who returned to the gloomy office in Whitehall. A man with a heart that swelled and throbbed with the pride and joy of life's most precious possession.
CHAPTER XVIII
T. X. sat at his desk, his chin in his hands, his mind remarkably busy. Grave as the matter was which he was considering, he rose with alacrity to meet the smiling girl who was ushered through the door by Mansus, preternaturally solemn and mysterious.
She was radiant that day. Her eyes were sparkling with an unusual brightness.
“I've got the most wonderful thing to tell you,” she said, “and I can't tell you.”
“That's a very good beginning,” said T. X., taking her muff from her hand.
“Oh, but it's really wonderful,” she cried eagerly, “more wonderful than anything you have ever heard about.”
“We are interested,” said T. X. blandly.
“No, no, you mustn't make fun,” she begged, “I can't tell you now, but it is something that will make you simply—” she was at a loss for a simile.