A little later she loosened herself from his embrace and taking his face in her small, white hands looked long and earnestly into his eyes, smoothing back the hair from his brow as she used to do; kissing him on the forehead, on each eyelid, and then on the mouth—­one of their old-time caresses.  Still remembering the old days, she threw back his coat and let her hands wander over his full-corded throat and chest and arms.  How big and strong he had become! and how handsome he had grown—­the boy merged into the man.  And that other something! (and another and stronger thrill shot through her)—­that other something which seemed to flow out of him;—­that dominating force that betokened leadership, compelling her to follow—­not the imperiousness of his father, brooking no opposition no matter at what cost, but the leadership of experience, courage, and self-reliance.

With this the sense of possession swept over her.  He was all her own and for ever!  A man to lean upon; a man to be proud of; one who would listen and understand:  to whom she could surrender her last stronghold—­her will.  And the comfort of it all; the rest, the quiet, the assurance of everlasting peace:  she who had been so torn and buffeted and heart-sore.

For many minutes she lay still from sheer happiness, thrilled by the warmth and pressure of his strong arms.  At last, when another thought could squeeze itself into her mind, she said:  “Won’t Uncle George be glad, Harry?”

“Yes,” he answered, releasing her just far enough to look into her eyes.  “It will make him well.  You made him very happy this morning.  His troubles are over, I hear—­he’s going to get a lot of his money back.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.  And will we take him with us?” she asked wonderingly, smoothing back his hair as she spoke.

“Take him where, darling?” he laughed.

“To where we are going—­No, you needn’t laugh—­I mean it.  I don’t care where we go,” and she looked at him intently.  “I’ll go with you anywhere in the world you say, and I’ll start to-morrow.”

He caught her again in his arms, kissed her for the hundredth time, and then suddenly relaxing his hold asked in assumed alarm:  “And what about your father?  What do you think he will say?  He always thought me a madcap scapegrace—­didn’t he?” The memory brought up no regret.  He didn’t care a rap what the Honorable Prim thought of him.

“Yes—­he thinks so now,” she echoed, wondering how anybody could have formed any such ideas of her Harry.

“Well, he will get over it when I talk with him about his coffee people.  Some of his agents out there want looking after.”

“Oh!—­how lovely, my precious; talking coffee will be much pleasanter than talking me!—­and yet we have got to do it somehow when he comes home.”

And down went her head again, she nestling the closer as if terrified at the thought of the impending meeting; then another kiss followed—­dozens of them—­neither of them keeping count, and then—­and then—­ ................ ...................