ribbon which she had drawn from her sleeve on the terrace twenty-seven
years ago, and tied there with the words:

"Do you think you will wear it till we meet again?" And the man had
replied:

"You'll not see me without it, pretty girl--pretty girl."

A woman is not so unaccountable after all. She has more imagination than
a man; she has not many resources to console her for disappointments, and
she prizes to her last hour the swift moments when wonderful things
seemed possible. That man is foolish who shows himself jealous of a
woman's memories or tokens--those guarantees of her womanliness.

When Lady Dargan saw the ribbon, which Gaston in his hurry had not
disturbed, tied exactly as she had tied it, a weird feeling came to her,
and she felt choking. But her sister's eyes were on her, and Mrs.
Gasgoyne's voice came across the table clearly:

"Sophie, what were Fred Bideford's colours at Sandown? You always
remember that kind of thing." The warning was sufficient. Lady Dargan
could make no effort of memory, but she replied without hesitation--or
conscience:

"Yellow and brown."

"There," said Mrs. Gasgoyne, "we are both wrong, Captain Maudsley.
Sophie never makes a mistake." Maudsley assented politely, but, stealing
a look at Lady Dargan, wondered what the little by-play meant. Gaston
was between Sir William and Mrs. Gasgoyne. He declined soup and fish,