Here in the same city as I, looking out over perchance the same
newspaper to perchance the same sun, wondering--ah, what was he
wondering?

I was not even then, in that first Rapture, foolish about him. I knew
that to him I was probably but a tender memory. I knew, to, that he was
but human and probably very concieted. On the other hand, I pride myself
on being a good judge of character, and he carried Nobility in every
linament. Even the obliteration of one eye by the printer could only
hamper but not destroy his dear face.

"Barbara," mother said sharply. "I am speaking. Are you being sulkey?"

"Pardon me, mother," I said in my gentlest tones. "I was but dreaming."
And as she made no reply, but rang the bell visciously, I went on,
pursuing my line of thought. "Mother, were you ever in Love?"

"Love! What sort of Love?"

I sat up and stared at her.

"Is there more than one sort?" I demanded.

"There is a very silly, schoolgirl Love," she said, eyeing me, "that
people outgrow and blush to look back on."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"