Indeed, her heart was beating wildly at the mere thought that she
was to see Paul Harley again that very day. She had counted the
hours since their last meeting, and knew exactly how many had
elapsed. Because each one had seemed like twelve, she had ceased
to rebel against this sweet weakness, which, for the first time
in her life, had robbed her of some of her individuality, and had
taught her that she was a woman to whom mastery by man is
exquisite slavery. Suddenly she spoke.
"Of course I will come, Your Excellency," she said. "I will see
Mrs. McMurdoch at once, but I know she will not refuse."
"Naturally she will not refuse, Miss Abingdon," he returned in a
grave voice. "The happiness of so many people is involved."
"It is so good of you," she said, standing up. "I shall never
forget your kindness."
He rose, bowing deeply, from a European standpoint too deeply.
"Kindness is a spiritual investment," he said, "which returns us
interest tenfold. If I can be sure of Mrs. McMurdoch's
acceptance, I will request permission to take my leave now, for I
have an urgent business appointment to keep, after which I will
call for you. Can you be ready by noon?"
"Yes, we shall be ready."
Phil Abingdon held out her hand in a curiously hesitant manner.
The image of Paul Harley had become more real, more insistent.
Her mind was in a strangely chaotic state, so that when the hand
of Ormuz Khan touched her own, she repressed a start and laughed
in an embarrassed way.
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