If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one. He would always be her friend, too. He looked half at her and half at the sky. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. It would be protective; it would with age turn to silver unnoticeably.
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