May God leave it to me!"
Penzance felt himself curiously exalted; he knew himself unreasoningly
passing through an oddly unpractical, uplifted moment, in whose
impelling he singularly believed.
"You are drawing her and she is drawing you," he said. "Perhaps you drew
each other across seas. You will stand here together and you will tell
her of this--on this very spot."
Mount Dunstan changed his position and laughed roughly, as if to rouse
himself. He threw out his arm in a big, uneasy gesture, taking in the
room.
"Oh, come," he said. "You talk like a seer. Look about you. Look! I am
to bring her here!"
"If it is the primeval thing she will not care. Why should she?"
"She! Bring a life like hers to this! Or perhaps you mean that her own
wealth might make her surroundings becoming--that a man would endure
that?"
"If it is the primeval thing, YOU would not care. You would have
forgotten that you two had ever lived an hour apart."
He spoke with a deep, moved gravity--almost as if he were speaking of
the first Titan building of the earth. Mount Dunstan staring at his
delicate, insistent, elderly face, tried to laugh again--and failed
because the effort seemed actually irreverent.
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