face, bent
over her, saying, "Have I offended you, Opal? Are you angry with me?"
She opened her eyes wide and asked with the utmost innocence "For what?"
Paul was disconcerted. "Last night!" he said faintly.
She colored, painfully.
"No, Paul, listen! I don't blame you a bit!--not a bit! A man would be a
downright fool not to take--what he wanted---- But if you want to
be--friends with me, you'll just forget all about--last night--or at any
rate, ignore it, and never refer to it again."
He extended his hand, and she placed hers in it for the briefest
possible instant.
And then their _tete-a-tete_ was interrupted, and they sat down for
their last breakfast at sea.
Opal Ledoux was not visible again until the Lusitania docked in New
York, when she waved her _companion de voyage_ a smiling but none the
less reluctant _au revoir_!
But Paul was too far away to see the tears in her eyes, and only
remembered the smile.
CHAPTER XI
New York's majestic greatness and ceaseless, tireless activity speedily
engrossed the Boy and opened his eager eyes to a wider horizon than he
had yet known. There was a new influence in the whir and hum of this
metropolis of the Western world that set the wheels of thought to a more
rapid motion, and keyed his soul to its highest tension.
It was not until his first letter from the homeland had come across the
waters that he paused to wonder what the new factor in his life meant
for his future. He had not allowed his reason to assert itself until the
force of circumstances demanded that he look his soul in the face, and
learn whither he was drifting. Paul was no coward, but he quailed before
the ominous clouds that threatened the happiness of himself and the girl
he loved.
For now he knew that he loved Opal Ledoux. It was Fate. He had guessed
it at the first sound of her voice; he had felt it at the first glance
of her eye; and he had known it beyond the peradventure of a doubt at
the first touch of her lips.
Yet this letter from his kingdom was full of suggestions of duties to be
done, of responsibilities to be assumed, of good still to be brought out
of much that was petty and low, and of helpless, miserable human beings
who were so soon to be dependent upon him.
"I will make my people happy," he thought. "Happiness is the birthright
of every man--be he peasant or monarch." And then the thought came to
him, how could he ever succeed in making them truly happy, w
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