Enoch sat forward in his chair, laid the book on the desk, opened to the last entry and seized his pen.
"So your name is not Lucy, but Diana! Oh, my dearest, and you did not recognize me at all, while my very heart was paralyzed with emotion! You must have been a very lovely little girl that the memory of you should have been so impressed on my subconsciousness. Oh, how beautiful you are! How beautiful! And to think that I must never let you know what you are to me. Never! Never! The strain stops with me."
He dropped his pen abruptly and, turning off the light, flung himself down on his bed. Jonas, listening long at the door, waited for the full, even breathing that would mark the end of his day's work. But it did not come, and dawn struggling through the hall window found Jonas sitting on the floor beside the half-opened door, his black head drooping on his breast, but his eyes open.
Enoch reached his office on the stroke of nine, as usual. His face was a little haggard and set but he came in briskly and spoke cheerfully to Charley Abbott.
"A little hotter than ever, eh, Abbott? I think you're looking dragged, my boy. When are you going to take your vacation?"
"In the fall, after you have had yours, Mr. Secretary." The two men grinned at each other.
"Did the Indian Commissioner find work for Miss Allen?" asked Enoch abruptly.
"Oh, yes! And she was as surprised and pleased as a child."
"How do you know that?" demanded the Secretary.
Charley looked a little confused. "I took her out to lunch, Mr.
Huntingdon. Jove, she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw!"