"I—I'm not frightened," she said, dazedly. "But—I—" Her eyes roved past him as if in quest of something.
"Here! This'll do for a wrap." Dan whipped his fur overcoat from a chair and flung it about her. "My hat, too!" He crushed his gray Stetson over her dark hair and, slipping his arm about her shoulders, urged her toward the hall.
"Mother! She'll never—"
"We'll call on her together. I'll do the talking for both of us." He jerked the front door open with a force that threatened to wrench it from its hinges and thrust his companion out into the bracing cold. Then, as Gordon's Japanese butler came running from the rear of the house, he turned.
"Hey, you!" he cried, sharply. "The boss has gone on a little visit. Don't stumble over him. And tell Mrs. Gordon that Mr. and Mrs. Appleton will call on her in a few days—Mr. and Mrs. Dan Appleton, of Omar!"
It was but a few steps to the pier; Dan felt that he was treading on air, for the fierce, unreasoning joy of possession was surging through his veins. His old indecision and doubt was gone, and the men he met recoiled before his hostile glance, staring after him in bewilderment.
But as he lifted Natalie down into the launch he felt her shaking violently, and of a sudden his selfish exultation gave way to a tender solicitude.
"There, there!" he said, gently. "Don't cry, honey. It's all right. It's all right!"
She raised her face to his, and his head swam, for he saw that she was radiant.
"I'm not crying; I'm laughing. I—I'm mad—insane with happiness."