You know, there were about thirty-nine different things that I wanted to explain to her. In novels the hero is always throwing upon the heroine an expressive glance, full of meaning. That is what I wanted. There is probably, if one only knew it, a shrug, a wave of the hand, which really does express the fact that you were coming and not going, and took in _The Times_ yourself, and had packed in a hurry, and ... If I could only have handed a Statement to the Press.... And I have yet to mention the unkindest blow of all. The evening clothes themselves, the only presentable things, stayed in the bag. If they had come out too, then I might have done something. I should have left them to the last--conspicuous upon the floor. Then I should have picked them up slowly, examined them, and nodded at the braid on the trousers as if to say, "Hang it, that's the sort of man I am really." I think, if they had come out too, I could still have carried the thing off.... What should _A._ do? Should he say to the girl, "Close your eyes and count twenty, and see what somebody's brought you," and then, while she was not looking, push the clothes under the seat? Should he be quite calm, and, stretching in front of her, say, "_My_ sock, I think," or politely, "Perhaps you would care to look at a piece of _The Daily Mail_?" Should he disown the thing altogether? "I'm very sorry. Let _me_ put them back for you." That would have been a master-stroke. Or should he, to divert attention, pull the alarm, and pay his five pounds like a man? But what _did_ _A._ do? Alas! He did nothing heroic. For one moment he stood there; then he pulled down the bag, fell on his knees, and began throwing the things in madly. He picked up the bag, locked it, and put it on the rack. Then he turned to the girl. Now he was going to have spoken to her. An apology, a laugh--yes, even now he might have carried it off. Only he happened to look up ... and he saw above her head the cord of his pyjamas dangling over the edge of the rack. REVERIE Dear Amaryllis,--(may I call you that? Seeing I do not know your proper name; And if I did, it might be something dull-- Like Madge). I offer you my broken heart, Knowing that if you do not want the thing You will not hesitate to mention it: Dear Amaryllis, will you please be mine?