anna. "And, anyhow, what's the
good of possessing power, if you 're not to exercise and enjoy it?"

The clock on the mantelpiece began to strike three.

"Mr. Craford," announced a servant.

Miss Sandus fled from the room by a French window.

Susanna returned her cue to the rack.

XVII

Anthony had passed, I imagine, the longest hour and a half that he had
ever passed, or will ever be likely to pass: the longest, the most
agitated, the most elated, the most impatient.

Could he regard himself as accepted? Well, certainly, as the next
thing to it. And, in any case, she had confessed that she cared for
him.

"I never meant to let you know I did."

Oh, he heard it again and again. Again and again her eyes met his, as
they had met them at that consummate moment, discovering her soul to
him. Again and again he knelt before her, and kissed her hands, warm
and soft, and sweet with that faint perfume which caused cataclysms in
his heart.

He went home, he went in to luncheon. Somehow he must wear out the
time till three o'clock.

"Come back at three o'clock--and I will tell you something."

What had she to tell him? What would he hear when he went back at
three o'clock? Here was a question for hope and fear to play about.

Adrian prattled merrily over the luncheon table. I wonder how many of
his words Anthony took in.

After luncheon he tramped about the park, counting the slow
minutes,--kissing her hands, looking into her eyes, racking his brain
with speculations as to what she might have to tell him, hoping,
fearing, and counting the long slow minutes. And his tug at Susanna's
doorbell coincided with the very first stroke of three from her
billiard-room clock.

His throat was dry, his pulses pounded, his knees all but knocked
together under him, as he followed the manservant across the hall, into
her presence.

XVIII

Susanna returned her cue to the rack.

Anthony stood near the door, an incarnate question.

"Well--?" he demanded, in a voice that was tense.

"Come in," she amiably welcomed him. "Sit down."

She pointed to a chair. She wore the same white frock that she had
worn before luncheon, only she had stuck a red rose in her belt.

He did n't sit down, but he came forward, and stood by the fireplace.

"What an age, what an eternity it has been," he profoundly sighed. "I
have grown grey waiting for this instant."

She studied him, with amusement.

"The grey is ver