His eyes widened. "Why did I come to you? If I had won I should have told you. But I haven't won; I have lost."
"Does that make the difference so great?"
"It makes the difficulty greater."
"Tell me!"—with a voice of command.
They both rose suddenly, rather unconsciously, too. Their glances held, magnet and needle-wise. Across the street a bonfire blazed, and the ruddy light threw a mellow rose over their strained faces.
"I love you," he said simply. "That is what drew me here, that is what has always drawn me here. But say nothing to me, Betty. God knows I am not strong enough to suffer two defeats in one night. God bless you and make you happy!"
He turned and took a few steps toward the door.
"If it were not defeat ... if it were victory?" she said, in a kind of whisper, her hands tense on the back of her chair.
The senator came in about midnight. He found his daughter asleep in a chair before a half-dead fire. There was a tender smile on her lips. He touched her gently.