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He laughed, softly, as the inspector had laughed a few moments before. But there was a strange tenseness in his face something which MacGregor saw, but could not understand. "Beauty-proof?" He repeated the words, looking keenly at the other. "Yes, I think I am, sir." "You think you are?" "I am quite sure that I am. Inspector. That is as far as I can go."
He had grown old and ugly in the service and was as beauty-proof as an ogre of stone. Why hadn't MacGregor sent him? Beauty-proof! The words sent a swift rush of thought, of regret, of the old homesickness and longing through Philip as he returned to his quarters.
He looked down on the big, tawny head that was bowed again upon the desk, and placed his hands on the other's shoulders. "God bless her!" echoed Philip. "You are not alone in your sorrows, Felix MacGregor," he said softly. "You asked me if I was beauty-proof. Yes, I am.
Beauty-proof! He laughed and loaded his pipe. MacGregor had made a good guess, even though he did not know what had passed that winter before he came north to seek adventure, or of the fight he had made for another woman, with Mr. Bucky Nome deserter! It was late in the afternoon when Philip's instructions came from the inspector.
Fact is, we have a way of our own of running down records " "And a confounded clever one it must be," interrupted Philip irreverently. "Had you any any particular reason for supposing me to be 'beauty-proof, as you call it?" he added coldly. "I've told you my only reason," said the inspector, leaning over his desk.
And it is because of something like this, because of a face and a soul that have filled my heart, because of a woman that is not mine, and never can be mine, because of a love which ever burns, and must never be known it is because of this that I am beauty-proof. God bless this little woman, MacGregor and you and I will never ask where she has gone."
There was no banter in his voice. It was low, so low that it had in it the ring of something more than mere desire for answer, and when the inspector turned, Philip observed a thing that he had never seen before a flush in MacGregor's face. His pale eyes gleamed. His voice was filled with an intense earnestness as he repeated the question. "I want to know, Steele. Are you beauty-proof?"
In spite of himself Philip felt the fire rising in his own face. In that moment the inspector could have hit on no words that would have thrilled him more deeply than those which he had spoken. Beauty-proof! Did MacGregor know? Was it possible He took a step forward, words came to his lips, but he caught himself before he had given voice to them. Beauty-proof!
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