"Yes, if they'd come when you do call them. But they're as contrary-minded as spirits from the vasty deep. I've been shouting around here for my old emotions all day, and I haven't had a responsive squeak." "Oh!" cried Miss Graham, staring full-eyed at him. "How delightful!" Effie Bowen turned away her pretty little head and laughed, as if it might not be quite kind to laugh at a person's joke to his face. Stimulated by their appreciation, Colville went on with more nonsense. "No; the only way to get at your old emotions in regard to Florence is to borrow them from somebody who's having them fresh. What do _you_ think about Florence, Miss Graham?" "I? I've been here two months." "Then it's too late?" "No, I don't know that it is. I keep feeling the strangeness all the time. But I can't tell you. It's very different from Buffalo, I can assure you." "Buffalo? I can imagine the difference. And it's not altogether to the disadvantage of Buffalo." "Oh, have you been there?" asked Miss Graham, with a touching little eagerness. "Do you know anybody in Buffalo?" "Some of the newspaper men; and I pass through there once a year on my way to New York--or used to. It's a lively place." "Yes, it is," sighed Miss Graham fondly. "Do the girls of Buffalo still come out at night and dance by the light of the moon?" "What!" "Ah, I see," said Colville, peering at her under his thoughtfully knitted brows, "you do belong to another era. You don't remember the old negro minstrel song." "No," said Miss Graham. "I can only remember the end of the war." "How divinely young!" said Colville. "Well," he added, "I wish that French lady could have overheard us, Miss Graham. I think she would have changed her mind about Americans striking the note of personality in their talk." "Oh!" exclaimed the girl reproachfully, after a moment of swift reflection and recognition, "I don't see how you could let me do it! You don't suppose that I should have talked so with every one? It was because you were another American, and such an old friend of Mrs. Bowen's." "That is what I shall certainly tell the French lady if she attacks me about it," said Colville. He glanced carelessly toward the end of the room, and saw the young clergyman taking leave of Mrs. Bowen; all the rest of the company were gone. "Bless me!" he said, "I must be going." Mrs. Bowen had so swiftly advanced upon him that she caught the last words. "Why?" she asked. "Because it's to-morrow, I suspect, and the invitation was for one day only." "It was a season ticket," said Mrs. Bowen, with gay hospitality, "and it isn't to-morrow for half an hour yet. I can't think of letting you go. Come up to the fire, all, and let's sit down by it. It's at its very best."