As the long strides of the tall, slender man brought him rapidly nearer, his face came into plain view.A refined, handsome face, dark and serious.He had dark-brown eyes--and Miss Hastings did not like brown eyes in a man.She thought that men should have gray or blue or greenish eyes, and if they were cruel in their love of power she liked it the better.
``Hello, Dave,'' she cried in a pleasant, friendly voice.She was posed--in the most unconscious of attitudes-- upon a rustic bench so that her extraordinary figure was revealed at its most attractive.
The young man halted before her, his breath coming quickly--not altogether from the exertion of his steep and rapid climb.
``Jen, I'm mad about you,'' he said, his brown eyes soft and luminous with passion.``I've done nothing but think about you in the week you've been back.I didn't sleep last night, and I've come up here as early as I dared to tell you--to ask you to marry me.''
He did not see the triumph she felt, the joy in having subdued another of these insolently superior males.Her eyes were discreetly veiled; her delightful mouth was arranged to express sadness.
``I thought I was an ambition incarnate,'' continued the young man, unwittingly adding to her delight by detailing how brilliant her conquest was.``I've never cared a rap about women--until Isaw you.I was all for politics--for trying to do something to make my fellow men the better for my having lived.Now--it's all gone.I want you, Jen.Nothing else matters.''
As he paused, gazing at her in speechless longing, she lifted her eyes--simply a glance.With a stifled cry he darted forward, dropped beside her on the bench and tried to enfold her in his arms.The veins stood out in his forehead; the expression of his eyes was terrifying.