"At ten I said I would say good-night for conventionality's sake. He begged, humbly it struck me, for a little longer. I was to leave by the steamer at eight in the morning, would be down at seven; he might come to me. Would I give him a portrait of myself? Yes, I would get one specially done. As much in profile as possible, he thought that would be happier. Yes. He came to the top of the stairs with me, and when we bade good-night he took my hand and held it curiously as if it were something fearfully fragile, and stood and watched me down the corridor. And will you credit it? I felt inclined to run like an awkward little school-girl. I said prayers that night; thanked God, I don't quite know what for,--I suppose I did then,--perhaps for being happy. I looked at my foreign self in the glass too, and when the light was out--Yes?--I did what you and every other woman might do, I cuddled my face to an imaginary face, rubbed my cheek to an imaginary cheek, whispered a God bless you! and fell asleep. "I was down before seven, paid my bill, and sat waiting, with the little tray, with its thick white cups and lumpy yellow cream, before me. He came,--such a glad man, with glad eyes, glad smile, and outstretched hands. And I,--I was so glad, too, that I could have shouted out for very joy of living. I might have been drinking some magic elixir instead of coffee. "'It is tiresome!' he said impatiently. "'What is tiresome? You have said that so often.' "'It is tiresome when a person one wants so badly to keep in the country is going out of it.' "'Supposing I were to stay in it, you would probably be in one place and I in another. It is only a question of a little dearer postage!' "We both laughed at that. It takes such a little thing to make one laugh when one is happy. Then the steamer came in sight, and we walked down through the bright morning to the pier, and went on board. He stood silently; we only looked at each other. It did not then strike me as odd--it does now. The first bell rang! I felt a chill steal over me. 'It is tiresome, it is hateful!' His smile had flown; and old deep lines and traces of past suffering I had not noticed before showed plainly. "'I will come back,' I said, 'when the winter is over!' "'Ay, but winter is long, or it used to be!' "'No matter, I will come with the spring!'