CHAPTER XXXII. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. " The Wastrel advanced. " "Dere's de other door!" cried Mendez, in alarm. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old.
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