there were for me the freshness, the rush of youth, and the venturous joy of new experience.
On her also a crisis of feeling had come; she was not her old self, nor I to her what I had been. There was a strained, almost frightened look in her eyes; a low-voiced "Augustin" replacing her bantering "Cæsar." Save for my name she did not speak as I led her to a couch and sat down by her side. She looked slight, girlish, and pathetic in a simple gown of black; timidity renewed her youth. Well might I forget that she was not a maiden of meet age for me, and she herself for an instant cheat time's reckoning. She made of me a man, of herself a girl, and prayed love's advocacy to prove the delusion true.
"I have been with Wetter," said I. "He wants the Embassy."
I fancy that she knew his desire; her hand pressed mine, but she did not speak.
"But he recommended Max," I went on.
"Max!" For a moment her face was full of terror as she turned to me; then she broke into a smile. Wetter's advice was plain to her also.
"You see how much he wants it for himself," said I. "He knows I would sooner send a gutter-boy than Max. And you know it?"
"Do I?" she murmured.
I rose and stood before her.
"It is yours to give, not mine," said I. "Do you give it to Wetter?"
As she looked up at me her eyes filled with tears, while her lips curved in a timid smile.
"What—what trouble you'll get into!" she said.
"It's not a thousandth part of what I would do for you. Wetter shall have it then—or Max?"
