Cicely leaned out, with outstretched hand.
He had to take it. The thrill the momentary touch of it gave, him but added a wrench to the torture. Then the Senator's hand had to be taken; finally Madame's.
His pulse was racing; pounding at his temples. What did all this mean!
Cicely, her own colour up a little, speaking quickly, her face lighting up, her hands moving, cried:—
'Oh, Mr Calverly! We heard this morning that the Gleaner has failed and that Mr Boice has it and we aren't to see your stories any more.'
'No,' said Henry, a faint touch of assurance appearing in his heart, mind, voice, 'that isn't so. Mr Boice hasn't got it. We've got it—Humphrey Weaver and I.'
'You mean you have purchased it?' This from the Senator.
'Yay-ah, We bought it yesterday.'
'No!' cried Cicely. 'Really?'
'Yay-ah. We bought it.'