farewell--farewell!" said she, as tragically as she dared, yet so that I
alone would hear her. Her eyes darted here and there, noting who came
near; and a smile flickered about her mouth as she calculated precisely
the breaking strain of my patience, and teased me up to that point. I
can easily enough see her elvish intent now, but I did not then.

"I go this afternoon," she said. "I have come to bid you
farewell--'Farewell! The anchor's weighed! Remember me!'"

"Is that why you are so happy to-day, because you are going away?" I
asked, putting a freezing dignity into my tones.

She nodded girlishly, and I admit, as a critic, adorably.

"Yes," she said, "that is just the reason."

We were now in the Public Gardens, and walking along a more quiet path.

"Good-bye, then," I said, holding out my hand.

"No, indeed!" she said; "I shall not allow you to kiss my hand in
public!"

And she put her hands behind her with a small, petulant gesture. "Now,
then!" she said defiantly.

With the utmost dignity I replied--"Indeed, I had no intention of
kissing your hand, Madame; but I have the honour of wishing you a very
good day."