"It has injured us so often--I don't even want to talk about it--or
about the government that asked you to come here and set things right.
Let us forget--now that all is right."
Quentin smiled at her and his quick mind saw that the time had come to
guide the conversation into pleasanter channels. He moved close to
Brent.
"It looks, Mr. Brent," he said, quietly, "as though we all were at about
the end of our troubles. But there are two of us here who are not quite
happy--yet. Mr. Brent, I am going to claim a reward."
"Anything, my dear Locke, anything I have is yours."
"Then I may as well tell you that Eva and I love each other and I want
your consent to our marriage."
Brent beamed.
"That, Quentin, is the dearest wish my heart can have."
Quentin turned to Eva to take her in his arms when there was a terrific
crash of glass in the conservatory, the splintering of wood, and the
Automaton, arms swinging like flails, charged like a mad thing into the
room.
Its terrorizing eyes were agleam, its one desire destruction. A large
table stood in its way and it demolished it as though it were matchwood.
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