Their rare buoyancy marched with
his mood, and from them she carried him into the song "Over the
hill," that is so perfect and romantic an expression of the
_wanderlust._
How long she could have held him she will never know, for at that
inopportune time came blundering one of his men into the room
with a call for his presence to take charge of the situation
outside.
"What do y'u want, Bostwick?" he demanded, with curt
peremptoriness.
The man whispered in his ear.
"Can't wait any longer, can't they?" snapped his chief. "Y'u tell
them they'll wait till I give the word. Understand?"
He almost flung the man out of the room, but Helen noticed that
she had lost him. His interest was perfunctory, and, though he
remained a little time longer, it was to establish his authority
with the men rather than to listen to her. Twice he looked at his
watch within five minutes.
He rose to go. "There is a little piece of business I have to put
through. So I'll have to ask y'u to excuse me. I have had a
delightful hour, and I hate to go." He smiled, and quoted with
mock sentimentality:
"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of
pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary! My
rosary!"
"Dear me! One certainly lives and learns.
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