Moffat
led his blushing charge through the throng toward her chair of state.
The murmuring voices, the admiring eyes, the hush of expectancy, all
contributed to warm the cockles of his heart and to color his face with
the glow of victory. Glancing at his companion, he saw her cheeks
flushed, her head held proudly poised, her countenance evidencing the
enjoyment of the moment, and he felt amply rewarded for the work which
had produced so glorious a result. A moment he bent above her chair,
whispering one last word of compliment into the little ear which
reddened at his bold speech, and feasting his ardent eyes upon the
flushed and animated countenance. The impatient crowd wondered at the
nature of the coming ceremony, and Mr. Moffat strove to recall the
opening words of his introductory address.
Suddenly his gaze settled upon one face amid the throng. A moment of
hesitation followed; then a quick whisper of excuse to the waiting
divinity in the chair, and the perturbed president pressed his way
toward the door. Buck Mason stood there on guard, carelessly leaning
against the post, his star of office gleaming beneath the light.
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