When he had satisfied the crowd, Jimmie fought his way to where Elise
and Duncan and I stood together.

Elise was wrapped in a great cloak of silver brocade. There was a touch
of silver, too, in her hair. But she had never seemed to me so small, so
childish.

"Oh, Jimmie," she said, as he came up, "you've done it!"

"Yes"--he was flushed and laughing, his head held high--"you always said
I could do it. And I shall do it again. Did you hear them shout, Elise?"

"Yes."

"Jove! I feel like the old woman in the nursery rhyme, 'Alack-a-daisy,
do this be I?'" He was excited, eager, but it was not the old eagerness.
There was an avidity, a greediness.

She laid her hand on his arm. "You've earned a rest, dearest. Let's go
up in the hills."

"In the hills? Oh, we're too old, Elise."

"We'll grow young."

"To-night I've given youth to the world. That's enough for me"--the
light in his eyes was not for her--"that's enough for me. We'll hang
around New York for a week or two, and then we'll go back to Albemarle.
I want to get to work on another play. It's a great game, Elise. It's a
great game!"