He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds.
She was his.
The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom candlestick with a box of matches.
“Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired.
“I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold.
“Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the sconces will burn for another hour. If that will not be long enough—”
“It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, and I wish you goodnight,” said Harold.
“Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.”
This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon the stairs.
“At last—at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep embrasure of the window behind her.