"That inquiry agent was a smart feller," the millionaire interrupted. "Gordon surely is a—bright boy."
Mrs. Carbhoy's indignation leaped. And with its leap came another. She fairly bounced out of the chair she had occupied and hurled herself at the mahogany door of the office.
"James Carbhoy, I shall see to this matter myself. I always knew you were merely a money machine. Now I know you have neither heart nor sense."
She flung open the door. Again she tripped over the fringe of the carpet, and, with a smothered ejaculation, flew headlong in the direction of the hall porter's stately presence.
CHAPTER XV
IN COUNCIL
There come days in a man's life which are not easily forgotten. Some poignant incident indelibly fixes them upon memory, and they become landmarks in his career. The next day became one of such in Gordon's life.
It was just a little extraordinary, too, that memory should have selected this particular day in preference to the preceding one. The first of the two should undoubtedly have been the more significant, for it partook of a nature which appealed directly to those innermost hopes and yearnings of a youthful heart. Surely, before all things in life, Nature claims to itself the passionate yearning of the sexes as paramount. Gordon had fought for the woman he loved, and basked in her smiles of approval at his victory. Was not this sufficient to make it a day of days? The psychological fact remained, the indelible memory of the next day was planted on the mysterious photographic plates of his mental camera in preference.
It was a day of wild excitement. It was a day of hopes raised to a fevered pitch, and then hurled headlong to a bottomless abyss of despair. It was a day of passionate feeling and bitter memories. A day of hopeless looking forward and of depression. Then, as a last and final twist of the whirligig of emotion, it resolved itself into one great burst of enthusiasm and hope.