"Frank," she said, slowly, fixing her lustrous eyes on his face,
"you usen't to be so grave. ... I don't think you have smiled much
lately ... you are changed."

He bore her scrutiny with silence.

"Poor boy!" she exclaimed, impulsively taking his hand. "I'm the
most heartless creature in the whole world. Do you know, Frank,
though I look so nice and girlish, I am really a brute; and when I
die I am sure to go to hell."

"I hope not," he said, smiling.

"Oh, but I know!" she cried. "All I ever do is to make people
miserable."

"Perhaps it's the people's fault, for--for loving you, Florence,"
he said.

"It's awfully exciting to see you again," she went on. "You came
within an ace of being my husband. I might have belonged to you
and counted your washing. It's queer, isn't it? Thrilling!"

"Why do you bring all that up, Florence?" he said. "It's done.
It's over. I--I would rather not speak of it."

"But it was such an awfully near thing, Frank," she persisted. "I
had made up my mind to take you, you know. I had even looked over
my poor little clothes and had drawn a hundred dollars out of the
savings bank!"