He followed me, his face gravely wondering.
"My motor is here. I'll take you back to town," he said, looking over my shoulder into the noisy, dimly-lit scene.
"But—weren't you going to be busy out here this evening?"
"Yes—later. I'll go with you, then return to a meeting I have here."
He rang the bell beside his desk and a moment later the face of Collins appeared in the doorway. Outside the limousine was breathing softly.
I don't remember what we talked about going in to town, or whether we talked at all or not; but when the machine slowed up at the Herald building and Maitland Tait helped me out, there was the same light shining from his eyes that shone there the night before—the light that made the glint of the silver oars on Cleopatra's Nile barge turn pale—and the radiance half blinded me.
"Grace, you don't want me to say anything to-night—I can see that," he said. "And you are right—if you are still bound to that other man! I can say nothing until I know you are free—"
He whispered the words, our hands meeting warmly.
"But, if you are going away!—You'll come and say good-by?"
"If it's to say good-by there'll be no use coming," he answered. "You know how I feel!"