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"_Je le veux_," she said, and we drank in each other's souls, or
gaped at each other like a pair of idiots just as you please. I had a
horrible, yet pleasurable consciousness that she had gripped hold of my
nerves of volition. She was willing me to live. I was a puppet in her
hands like the wild tom-cat. At that moment I declare I could have
purred and rubbed my head against her knee. I would have done anything
she bade me. If she had sent me to fetch the Cham of Tartary's cap or a
hair of the Prester John's beard, I would have telephoned forthwith to
Rogers to pack a suit-case and book a seat in the Orient express.
What would have happened next Heaven alone knows--for we could not have
gone on gazing at each other until I backed myself out at the door by
way of leave-taking--had not Anticlimax arrived in the person of Mr.
Anastasius Papadopoulos in his eternal frock-coat. But his gloves were
black.
As usual he fell on his knees and kissed his lady's hand. Then he rose
and greeted me with solemn affability.


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