make the most of my precious "little while," I pressed it warmly,
whereupon she cried out aloud: "Oh, Smith, you are squeezing too
hard--you hurt my hand!"

I dropped it instantly in the greatest confusion. "Oh, for goodness
sake," I stammered, "please, do not make such an outcry! You don't know
what a hobble you'll get me into."

Fortunately, no notice was taken of the exclamation, though it was hard
to believe that her words had not been overheard; and presently,
recovering from my fright, I apologized for hurting her, and hoped she
would forgive me.

"There is nothing to forgive," she returned gently. "You did not really
squeeze hard, only my hand hurts, because to-day when I pressed it on
the ground beside the grave I ran a small thorn into it." Then the
remembrance of that scene at the burial brought a sudden mist of tears
into her lovely eyes.

"I am so sorry I hurt you, Yoletta--may I call you Yoletta?" said I, all
at once remembering that she had called me Smith, without the customary
prefix.

"Why, that is my name--what else should you call me?" she returned,
evidently with surprise.

"It is a pretty name, and so sweet on the lips that I should like to be
repeating it continually," I answered. "But it is only right that you
should have a pretty name, because--well, if I may tell you, because you
are so very beautiful."