[76] Again Kenyon’s eyes narrowed; there were little puckers about their corners. “About her I cannot say.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, eagerly: “What is the color of her hair. Is she light or dark?” “The veil conceals everything, and she holds it in place in a way that plainly shows that she intends it to go on doing so.” When their dinner began to arrive Webster took his eyes from the pair for a few moments; and when he looked up again they had gone. “Why, I really thought they were good for an hour,” said the young Chicagoan. “It does not seem possible that their interest could slacken enough in that time to permit of their going away.” Kenyon did not reply, but sat staring moodily before him. He had maintained this attitude for some time before Webster noticed it; and then the latter grew suddenly silent. “It’s the girl,” he told himself. “Poor chap! She’s got him, whoever she is. He’ll never see a woman in the distance again without thinking it’s she; nor he’ll never see another sun arise without thinking that it’s going to witness his meeting with her. That[77] is, not for a while. It’s comforting to think that such things don’t last long.” [77] He had reached this stage in his reflection when a boy approached. “Mr. Kenyon?” inquired he. “Yes,” replied Webster. “Here, wake up, old chap; there’s a message for you.” “From a man who just left in an automobile,” the boy informed Kenyon, as he handed him the message. “He said there was no answer.” Kenyon tore open the envelope. The note was written upon a sheet of hotel stationery, and contained but two lines of writing. A glance took this in, and with a laugh he tossed it over to Webster. The message read: “Your progress is wonderful! But don’t forget that boldness can be carried too far.” And underneath this was the signature: “Farbush.” [78]
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