From behind the leaf, it appeared that Miss Blanche, on retiring, had
been pursued by a hideous winged bug which defied the efforts of herself
and maid to dislodge. Odin, the Spitz dog, had insisted upon scratching
at the door. And it made her eyes red to sleep in the morning. And she
had an early call to make. And the sea looked lovely.

"I'm glad to find you here, whatever be the cause," said Islington, with
his old directness. "To-day, as you know, is my last day in Greyport,
and it is much pleasanter to say good by under this blue sky than even
beneath your father's wonderful frescos yonder. I want to remember you,
too, as part of this pleasant prospect which belongs to us all, rather
than recall you in anybody's particular setting."

"I know," said Blanche, with equal directness, "that houses are one of
the defects of our civilization; but I don't think I ever heard the idea
as elegantly expressed before. Where do you go?"

"I don't know yet. I have several plans. I may go to South America and
become president of one of the republics,--I am not particular which. I
am rich, but in that part of America which lies outside of Greyport it
is necessary for every man to have some work. My friends think I
should have some great aim in life, with a capital A. But I was born a
vagabond, and a vagabond I shall probably die."

"I don't know anybody in South America," said Blanche, languidly. "There
were two girls here last season, but they didn't wear stays in the
house, and their white frocks never were properly done up. If you go to
South America, you must write to me."