Zanin hesitated a faint fraction of a second and took it.
Then Peter—sure now that he knew how the late J. P. Morgan must have felt about things, full of still wonder at himself and touched by the wistful thought that had he chosen differently in youth he might easily have become a master of men—hit on the compromise of giving full play to Zanin's genius for publicity, provided Zanin, for his part, submitted to a budget system of expenditure.
“And a pretty small budget, too,” he added. “We've got to do it with brains, Zanin, as you did things at the Crossroads.”
This settled, however, a silence fell. Each of the three knew that nothing had been settled. Sue, that quiet light in her eyes, watched them.
Then suddenly, with her extraordinary lightness of body, she sprang to her feet. Peter, all nerves, gave a start. Zanin merely followed her with eyes.—heavy puzzled eyes.
Sue picked up the tea kettle. “One of you—Peter—bring the tray!” she commanded as she went out into the dark kitchenette.
Peter, with a leap almost like Sue's, followed. He could not see clearly out there, but he thought she was smiling as she set down the kettle.
“Sue,” he whispered, still in the glow of his quiet heroism, “I knew I loved you, but never before today did I realize how much.” No one could have uttered the words with simpler dignity.
She stood motionless, bending Over the kettle,
“Something has happened to-day,” she said very low.