with a disappointment. She rose, and with the least touch of sadness
in her voice, but no impatience, replied: "Good-night."

We shook hands and parted for the night. My hand was already on the
latch, when I turned round and saw her still standing near the table.

"Aniela! Tell me," I said, "do you not think me a fantastic kind of
man, full of whims and fancies?"

"Oh, no, not fantastic; sometimes I think you a little strange, but
then I say to myself that men like you are bound to be different from
others."

"One question more; when was it you thought me strange the first
time?"

Aniela blushed to the tips of her ears. How pretty she looked with the
pink flame spreading over her face and neck.

"No, I could not tell you."

"Then let me guess, and if I am right say yes. It is a single word."

"What word?" she asked, with increased confusion.

"Tablets. Yes, or no?"

"Yes," said Aniela, with drooping eyes.

"Then I will tell you why I wrote those words. First, because I wanted