A significant
pressure of her little glove as he made his bow seemed to be his only
welcome, but a moment later she caught his arm. "You've yet to
know HIM," she said in a half whisper; "he thinks a good deal of
himself--just like Jim. But he makes others believe it, and that's where
poor Jim slipped up." She paused before the man thus characteristically
disposed of, and presented Brant. It was the man he had seen
before--material, capable, dogmatic. A glance from his shrewd
eyes--accustomed to the weighing of men's weaknesses and ambitions--and
a few hurried phrases, apparently satisfied him that Brant was not just
then important or available to him, and the two men, a moment later,
drifted easily apart. Brant sauntered listlessly through the crowded
rooms, half remorsefully conscious that he had taken some irrevocable
step, and none the less assured by the presence of two or three
reporters and correspondents who were dogging his steps, or the glance
of two or three pretty women whose curiosity had evidently been aroused
by the singular abstraction of this handsome, distinguished, but
sardonic-looking officer. But the next moment he was genuinely moved.
A tall young woman had just glided into the centre of the room with an
indolent yet supple gracefulness that seemed familiar to him.
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