He dreaded the shock when he must tell
her.
His heart grew sick with fear. What chance had he with everything
against him--her old, fanatical father who loved her with the tender
devotion of his strong manhood--her own blind admiration for the new
President, whose coming had brought war--and worst of all he must go and
leave John by her side! His brother had given no hint of his real
feelings, but his deeds had been more eloquent than words. He had seen
Betty every week since the day they had met--sometimes twice. This he
knew. There may have been times he didn't know.
All the more reason why he must put the thing to the test. Besides he
_must_ speak. His hour had struck. His country was calling, and he must
go--to meet Death or Glory. The woman he loved must know.
He heard the soft rustle of her dress on the stairs and sprang to his
feet. She paused in the doorway a vision of ravishing beauty in full
evening dress, her bare arms and exquisite neck and throat gleaming in
the shadows.
She smiled graciously, her brown eyes sparkling with the conscious power
which youth and beauty can never conceal.
She held out her soft warm hand and his trembling cold fingers grasped
it.
"I'm sorry to have kept you, Ned," she began softly, "but I was dressing
for the reception at the White House.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170