That blow did more than any tearful plea to melt the icy mistrust that had all night been freezing up his heart, but before he had time to reply Greeba was on her knees before him, praying of him to forgive her, because she did not know what she was doing.
"But, Michael," she said again, "it isn't true. Indeed, indeed, it is not, and it is very, very cruel. Yes, I am proud, very proud, but I am proudest of all of my husband. Proud of him, proud for him—proud that he should be the bravest and noblest gentleman in the world. That is the worst of my pride, Michael—that I want to be proud of him I love. But if that might not have been, and he had been the lowliest man on earth, I could have shared his lot though it had been never so poor and humble, so that I could have had him beside me always."
As he listened to her passionate words there was a fluttering at his throat. "Are you sure of that, Greeba?" he said.
"Only let me prove it to you," she cried, with the challenge of beauty in her beautiful eyes.
"So you shall, Greeba," he said, "for we leave this house to-morrow."
"What?" she cried, rising to her feet.
"Yes," he said, "from to-morrow our condition will be different. So get yourself ready to go away from here."
Then her courageous challenge sank away in an instant.
"Whatever do you mean?" she cried, in great terror.
"If you have married the President you shall live with the man," he answered.