stood, undecided, when suddenly he heard Rosemary Roselle calling with an acute note of fear.
He ran through the binding grass back to the garden.
"Elim Meikeljohn!" She stumbled forward to meet him. "Oh, Elim," she cried; "there's no one in the world" A sob choked her utterance.
He fell on his knees before her:
"There's always me."
She sank in a fragrant heap into his arms.
Elim Meikeljohn laughed over her shoulder at his entire worldly goods on the steps—the fragmentary fruit cake and a bottle of champagne.
Here they are lost on the dimming mirror of the past.
