These dark-haired, classic
featured ones for me, Harleston; the pale blonde type does not appeal.
The peroxides come of that class." Again the photograph did duty. "I
could almost wish that she were the lost lady of the cab of the sleeping
horse--so that I might see her in the flesh. I've never seen her, you
know."
Harleston smoothed back a smile. The Secretary too was getting
sentimental over the lady, and he had never seen her; though he had
known of her rare doings; and those doings had, it appeared, had their
natural effect of enveloping her in a glamour of fascination because of
what she had done.
"You've seen her?" the Secretary asked.
"I've known her since she was Madeline Cuthbert. Since then she's had a
history. Possibly, taken altogether she's a pretty bad lot. And she is
not only beautiful; she's fascinating, simply fascinating; it's a rare
man, a very rare man, who can be with her ten minutes and not succumb to
her manifold attractions of mind and body."
"You have succumbed?" the Secretary smiled.
"I have--twenty times at least. You'll join the throng, if she has
occasion to need you, and gives you half a chance."
"I'm married!" said the Secretary.
"I'm quite aware of it!"
"I'm immune!"
"And yet you're wishing to see her in the flesh!" Harleston smiled.
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