"I want him to play."
That evening Enoch went to see the pictures. There were perhaps a
hundred of them, telling the story of the religion of the Navahos.
Only one whom the Indians loved and trusted could have procured such
intimate, such dramatic photographs. They were as unlike the usual
posed portraits of Indian life as is a stage shower unlike an actual
thunder storm. There was indeed a subtle passion and poignancy about
the pictures that it seemed to Enoch as well as to the President, only
a fine mind could have found and captured. He had made the rounds of
the little room twice, threading his way abstractedly through the
crowd, before he came upon Diana. She was in white, standing before
one of the pictures, answering questions that were being put to her by
a couple of reporters. She bowed to Enoch and he bowed in return, then
stood so obviously waiting for the reporters to finish that they
actually withdrew.
Enoch came up and held out his hand. "These are very fine, Miss Allen."
"I thought you were not coming to see them," said Diana. "It makes me
very happy to have you here!"
"Does it?" asked Enoch quickly. "Why?"
"Because--" here Diana hesitated and looked from Enoch's stern lips to
his blue eyes.
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