Cleigh turned and went down the ladder. Twenty times he circled the deck; then he paused under the bridge and sent up a hail.
“Dinner is ready!”
The moment Jane reached the deck Cleigh put an arm round her.
“No other human being could have done it. It is a cup of gall and wormwood, but I’ll take it. Why? Because I am old and lonely and want a little love. I have no faith in Cunningham’s word, but he shall go free.”
“How long since you kissed any one?” she asked.
“Many years.” And he stooped to her cheek. To press back the old brooding thought he said with cheerful brusqueness: “Suppose we celebrate? I’ll have Togo ice a bottle of that vintage 276 those infernal ruffians broke over your head last night.”
Dennison laughed.
October.
The Cleigh library was long and wide. There was a fine old blue Ispahan on the floor. The chairs were neither historical nor uncomfortable. One came in here to read. The library was on the second floor. When you reached this room you left the affairs of state and world behind.