He entered the luxurious carriage and the door slammed behind him. Presently he was on the way to see the one woman in all the world. Her carriage! What a delicate bit of charity it was, savoring of a thoughtful mind and a warm heart! She knew, then, of his continued poverty and wished to save him the embarrassment of going to a dinner in a surface car. There was not the least hint of patronage in the act; it was simply one of those fine and thoughtful impulses of which only a noble woman is capable. He recalled the first night he had taken her to the opera. There had been no other woman half so lovely—he had thought only of her. Fool that he was to surrender to this idle dream: but oh! it had been so sweet.
There was a jar, and the carriage and Williard's reverie came to a sudden pause. The door opened and the footman's head appeared.
"Here we are, sir!"
Williard, still dazed, alighted. He mounted the steps to the door, and with no little timidity he pushed the electric button. Riches! How the hateful word buzzed in his ears!
II
A PRIM little maid opened the door. She took his hat and coat, and directed him to the warm and cozy library. As he saw no one about he believed that he had committed the unpardonable offense of coming too early. It was so long since he had been "out." He wandered among the bookcases and soon forgot where he was, for he possessed the poet's enthusiasm for rare books. The atmosphere seemed spirituous of Balzac, Thackeray, Dumas, Dickens, Scott, Hugo and all the tender poets he loved so well. And here, right under his hand, was a rare copy of Tristram Shandy. Dear, guileless old Uncle Toby! And then he became conscious of a Presence.
He turned, and beheld her standing in the doorway. Beautiful, beautiful! The ivory pallor of her complexion, the shadowy wine of her hair, her brilliant eyes, the glistening whiteness of her neck and arms! He stood like stone, incapable of animation. Then he took in a deep breath: he wished to possess absolute control over himself before he touched her hand. Oh, he needed no fire to warm his veins, the blood of which gushed into his brain like the floods of spring torrents!
"John!" she cried.