"The fellow you met on the ship—Apollo and the liar; the man who talked about eleven millions sterling."
"Yes, I saw him. How did you know I was going?"
"Oh! I was in the Savoy myself this morning. I'm thinking of buying the place."
"Then you propose to settle down?"
"Or settle up. What did you want from the Stars and Stripes this morning, Gabrielle?"
"An impertinent question. Why should I tell you? Why do you want to know?"
"Because I have the right to know."
"The right, Harry—the right!"
They were over at the eastern corner of the pond, shadows sheltering them. Harry Lassett's "six foot one" towered above her five feet five, and made a woman of her. He had the round, "apple" face of a boy of twenty-four, vast shoulders, limbs of iron. His eyes were clear and lustrous, and his hair jet black. There was every quality which makes a quick, physical appeal to the other sex, and now, perhaps not for the first time, Gabrielle became acutely conscious of it. This was something totally apart from schemes for the world's good; something with which millionaires, were they British or American, had no concern whatever. Ten years of a boy and girl friendship culminated here. She tried to withdraw her fingers from Harry's grasp, but could not release herself; his breath was hot upon her forehead; she quivered at his touch, and then stood very still.
"Why have I not got the right? Who has if I haven't?"