Oliver rarely asked her for music.
She took up a novel and dozed over it.
At eleven o'clock Oliver came home. She knew by the way he opened
the front door that the news was good. She ran to meet him; her
dullness vanished.
He took her by the hand and led her into the softly lit room which
seemed suddenly warm again with his presence. Then he whirled her,
facing him. Her smile was a happy reflection of his own brightness.
"You'll never guess what's happened," he began.
"Tell me quickly!" she begged.
He waited a moment, with an eye to dramatic effect.
"Well, then," he said proudly, "I've been appointed on a special
committee of reconstruction in France. Malcolm Wild--you've heard me
speak of him--came down from Washington to-day to propose it to me.
There are six of us on the committee, and I'm the youngest."
"Oliver!" She put into the exclamation something of what he expected,
for he seemed satisfied. He lifted his head with a young, triumphant
gesture. "It is my chance to do a great and useful work," he said.
"I needn't tell you what it means. I never hoped, _I_ never dreamed
of such an honour."
"I'm so proud of you!" she cried.
He hardly seemed to hear her.
"Think of it, just think of it--to be invited to go over there with
five of the biggest architects here, American money backing us!
We've been given a whole section to rebuild; I forget how many
villages.
Pages:
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410