He offered her his arm. The young men rose and made room for him. Duty called, and they never interfered with duty.
Grace hypnotically obeyed, for H. R. was frowning. Together they walked down to the floor of the Garden.
The Public Sentiment Corps did their duty. They had not yet received the beer. They shouted, frenziedly:
"H. R.! H. R.! H. R.!"
The public took up the cheering. Thousands of outstretched hands reached out for his. But H. R. merely bowed, right and left, and walked to the middle of the floor.
"Smile at them!" he whispered, fiercely, to Grace.
She did. She knew then what it was to be a Queen. She felt an overpowering kindliness toward all these delightful, simple people. Reggie was not brilliant, but that wasn't expected of a Van Duzen. She did not love Reggie, but she liked him. As Mrs. Van Duzen she would always have what she liked. She would never marry H. R.! It was preposterous.
The band began to play. The crowd, instead of dancing, moved toward the sides—to give H. R. room to dance.
Never before on Manhattan Island had such a triumph of personality fallen to the lot of any man.
H. R. put his arm about Grace Goodchild. She shrank from the symbolism of bondage.