At last: "Matinees and rehearsal keep us busy by day. But I am boarding here for the week, and--and I rest here in the garden after the evening performance. It is cool, it--it is like a glass of water after taking rather bitter medicine. And you aren't a bad sort, are you? No; you look too big and strong and clean, Mr. Townsend. And, besides, you're just a boy--" "In that case," cried Mr. Townsend, "I shall say goodnight with a light heart." And I turned to go. "A moment--" said she. "An eternity," I proffered. "Promise me," she said, "that you will not come again this week to the Opera House." My brows were raised a trifle. "I adore the drama," I pleaded. "And I loathe it. And I act very badly--hopelessly so," said Miss Montmorenci, with an indolent shrug; "and, somehow, I don't want you to see me do it. Why did you mind my calling you a boy? You _are_, you know." So I protested I had not minded it at all; and I promised. "But at least," I said, triumphantly, "you can't prevent my remembering Juliet!" She said of course not, only I was not to be silly. "And therefore," quoth I, "Juliet shall be remembered always." I smiled and waved my hand. "_Au revoir_, Signorina Capulet," said I. And I took my departure. My blood rejoiced, with a strange fervor, in the summer moonlight. It was good to be alive. 7. _He Goes Mad in a Garden_ "And, oh, but it is good to be with you again, Signorina!" cried I, as I came with quick strides into the moonlit garden. I caught both her hands in mine, and laughed like an ineffably contented person. There was nothing very subtle about the boy that then was I; at worst, he overacted what he really felt; and just at present he was pleased with the universe, and he saw no possible reason for concealing the fact. It was characteristic, also, that she made no pretence at being surprised by my coming. She was expecting me and she smiled very frankly at seeing me. Also, in place of the street dress of Tuesday, she wore something that was white and soft and clinging, and left her throat but half concealed. This, for two reasons, was sensible and praiseworthy; one being that the night was warm, and the other that it really broadened my ideas as to the state of perfection which it is possible for the human throat to attain. 2