Gloria was still upstairs.  King sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames, listening to the wind in the chimney, waiting for Gloria.  When time passed and she did not come, he went softly upstairs and to her door.  It was closed and he knocked lightly, then dropped his hand to the knob, awaiting her voice.

His knuckles had hardly brushed the door, this door which he approached in reverence; Gloria had not even heard him.  He called softly, his voice little above a whisper: 

“Gloria!” He heard her move; for a moment she did not answer.  He could not know how she stood, scarcely breathing, her hands at her breast; nor how, now that the great step was taken, she was again half-frightened, half-regretful, altogether bewildered and uncertain.  Of herself, of him, of everything——­

“Is it you, Mark?”

“Yes.  May I come in, Gloria?”

“Please, Mark.  It’s all so new, so strange ...  I intended to come right back downstairs, but I’m so tired, Mark.  And I want to be alone a little; to think.  I haven’t had time to think of anything!  You don’t mind, do you, Mark?”

He answered promptly and heartily, refusing to allow himself to harbour a shadow of disappointment.

“No.  No, of course not.  You will go right to bed?  I know you must be half-dead for sleep.”

“Yes.”  There was a note of eagerness in the voice coming to him from beyond the shut door.

“There was a message from your mother; she has gone to your father and wanted you to meet her there.  But we will talk of that later.”

“Yes....  Good-night, Mark.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me good-night?” he asked, hesitating a little between the words.  His new privilege, a lover’s, a husband’s, was not an hour old; he felt strangely shy as he spoke softly to her.

“Please, Mark!  I am terribly tired out, and—­and I’m afraid I’ve mislaid the key, and——­”

That hurt him; his eyes darkened with the quick pain that came to him from her words.  He had hoped that Gloria had known him better than that.

“You need never lock your door against me, my dear,” he told her gently.  “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.  Why, God bless you, I wouldn’t touch the hem of your dress if you didn’t want me to.”

“Yes,” said Gloria.  “I know.  You are so good, Mark.  But now——­”

“I am going,” he returned tenderly, “to sit by the fire and think.  Just to soak myself in the realization,” he added with a happy laugh, “that you are mine.”

“Before you go in the morning you will come to my door?”

“If you want me to....”

“Of course, Mark.”

“Then—­good-night, dear.”

“Good-night, Mark.”

Chapter XVI