“The difference is the difference in the effect produced by champagne and the effect produced by mountain air,” he stated.
“I suppose some such freedom is what we all strive for,” she said quickly, with broad generalization.
“There is but little striving in it,” he affirmed. “It is the one time when the mountain comes to Mahomet.”
“But even then Mahomet must climb the mountain,” she suggested.
“He soars to the top, winged,” he answered.
The candle began to give warning. The unsnuffed wick leaned over drunkenly and unfairly ate down its sides. But a candle may not be criticised, however unjust its acts. Barnes saw that it was too late to correct its knavish course though the evening was still young; in two minutes it would unceremoniously snuff out the girl’s eyes. It gave fair warning.
Miss Van Patten arose. He had nothing to do but to arise also.
“I shall emulate Mahomet,” he declared. “I shall soar to the top of the stairs, winged.”
She answered only,
“Good-night.”