King took one look into a small
room at the right of the hall, a sort of small den or office it seemed
to be. Then he turned to Anne and put out his hand. "Will you come in
here, please?" he requested.
She looked at him for a moment without giving him her hand, then
preceded him into the room. There was a heavy curtain of dull blue silk
hanging by the door frame, and King noiselessly drew this across. Then
he turned and confronted the girl. She had drawn off her motoring
gloves, but made no motion to remove either the rough gray coat in which
she had been driving or the small gray velvet hat drawn smoothly down
over her curls with a clever air of its own. Altogether she looked not
in the least like a hostess, but very like a traveller who has only
paused for a brief stop on a journey to be immediately continued.
He stood there watching her for a minute, himself a challenging figure
with his dark, bright face, his fine young height, his air of--quite
suddenly--commanding the situation. And he was between the girl and the
door. The two pairs of eyes looked straight into each other.
"Well?" he said.
"Well?" said Anne Linton Coolidge in return.
"Did you expect me to wait any longer?"
"I was afraid you might come and go--and never say so much as 'Well?'"
said she.
This was more than mortal man could bear--and there was no more waiting
done by anybody. When Jordan King had--temporarily--done satisfying the
hunger of his lips and arms, he spoke again, looking down searchingly at
a face into which he had brought plenty of splendid colour.
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