her, a telegram in his hand.

"For me?" Fanny opened it, frowned, smiled. "It's from Mr.
Fenger. Good wishes. As if all those flowers weren't
enough."

"Mm," said Ella. She and Heyl descended the gang-way, and
stood at the dock's edge, looking rather foolish and
uncertain, as people do at such times. There followed a few
moments of scramble, of absurdly shouted last messages, of
bells, and frantic waving of handkerchiefs. Fanny, at the
rail, found her two among the crowd, and smiled down upon
them, mistily. Ella was waving energetically. Heyl was
standing quite still, looking up. The ship swung clear,
crept away from the dock. The good-bys swelled to a roar.
Fanny leaned far over the rail and waved too, a sob in her
throat. Then she saw that she was waving with the hand that
held the yellow telegram. She crumpled it in the other
hand, and substituted her handkerchief. Heyl still stood,
hat in hand, motionless.

"Why don't you wave good-by?" she called, though he could
not possibly hear. "Wave good-by!" And then the hand with
the handkerchief went to her face, and she was weeping. I
think it was that old drama-thrill in her, dormant for so
long. But at that Heyl swung his hat above his head, three
times, like a schoolboy, and, grasping Ella's plump and
resisting arm, marched abruptly away.