Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
For all that, the man's heart was rioting within him; her words, with their call upon his chivalric nature, her eyes, with their enchantment for his senses, the music of her voice—it was as though these had distilled into the man's veins some magic potion, filling them with a sweet madness.
"But 'tis meself that's the fool!" he repented bitterly, a second later. For madame's escort had approached, and, with a curt word to her, had offered his arm. She had taken it without reply; and now their carriage was gone into the mysterious night, leaving O'Rourke without so much as a backward glance, or a parting gesture of her free hand—leaving him half staggered by the unreality of the whole affair and more than half inclined to believe that he had dreamed it.
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