'I am sure your father and I feel the same; and really, Geraldine, on a wet day these rooms are terribly small. I used to take my work upstairs; one seemed to breathe freer than in that stuffy parlour that Audrey and Michael think so charming.' 'So our last evening has come,' observed Audrey, in a curious tone, as she and Michael wandered down to the little bridge they called their trysting-place. A tiny rivulet of water trickled over the stones, and two or three ducks were dibbling with yellow bills among the miniature boulders. Audrey sat down on the low wall, and Michael stooped to pick up a pebble, an action that excited frantic joy in Booty's breast. 'Ah, to be sure!' he replied, as he sent it skimming along the water, while Booty pattered after it, barking with glee. 'Don't you remember De Quincey's observation?' And as Audrey shook her head, for she never remembered quotations, he went on: 'He declares that it is a true and feeling remark of Dr. Johnson's, that we never do anything consciously for the last time (of things, that is to say, which we have long been in the habit of doing) without sadness of heart.' 'I think he is right;' and Audrey bent over the low parapet to watch a sudden scrimmage below. Booty was frisking among the boulders, and the ducks, evidently ruffled in their feelings, were swimming under the bridge, quacking a loud, indignant protest. Even ducks lose their tempers sometimes, and the angry flourish of their tails and the pouting of their soft necks and their open bills showed keen remonstrance and utter vexation of spirit. 'Booty, come here, and leave those ducks in peace;' and then, while Michael threw another pebble or two, she sat asking herself if she felt this sadness. Was she glad or sorry to know that to-morrow they would be on their way to Rutherford?--would it not be a matter of regret if their return were to be suddenly postponed? She had been very happy here; she had seen so much of her father and Michael; but----Here Audrey brought her inward questioning to an abrupt end. 'It has been a nice time, Michael,' she said gently--'a very nice time indeed.' 'Look here! I wish you would substitute another adjective,' he remonstrated, quite seriously. '"Nice" is such an insipid, sugary sort of word: it has no sort of character about it. Now, if you had said "a good old time----"' 'And have drawn down a reproof on myself for talking slang.' 'Well, "a glorious time,"' he corrected--'shall we say that instead? You have enjoyed it, have you not?' with one of his searching looks. 'Oh yes; I have never enjoyed myself more. And, Michael'--her love of mischief predominating--'I do believe we have not quarrelled once.'