Jenkins cleared his throat loudly and shifted the pajamas to his other side. As for myself, I just winced as under the stroke of a what-you-call-it, but one end of my dashed brain was being pulled by the flashing play of the dappling sunlight there upon-- "By Jove, her figure exactly!" I ejaculated, staring. For it _was_ her--no, dash it, _she_, I mean! I had a perfectly clear view of her now as she paused on a little point and hung there looking out over the Hudson. In her hand was a full-blown, ripened rose, and her lips were shaping in ravishing little pouts as musingly she blew the petals from her. But go they would not, but hugged back in the arms of the light breeze, circling and fluttering about her glorious sunny head like a swarm of rosy butterflies. It made a pretty picture! "And what's more, they're just her color, too!" I murmured tenderly, forgetful of everything but her, unmindful that I was not alone. For under my hand I could feel my jolly heart quivering like a champagne cork, freshly unfettered and thrilling eagerly under the impulse of the mad, dancing, joyous spirit within. "The one lovely woman in all the world!" I breathed aloud, and I felt my eyes grow oddly moist. And for a minute I went off in a jolly trance. "Good-by, sir!" It was O'Keefe's voice--oddly constrained. "Eh?" I ejaculated, blinking at him as I came back. Then I remembered--but what was it he had been asking? Something-- "Just, good-by!" he repeated with elaborated gentleness. Then, straightening: "_No_ offense, I hope, if we let it go at that--I mean, I guess you won't miss it if we _don't_ shake hands?" I glanced at the gloves he was drawing on. "Oh, dash it, no!" I responded absently, and my eyes coasted up the slope again--then dropped back disappointedly, for she had disappeared within the pavilion. "Of course, rich people has got privileges," Mr. O'Keefe was ruminating somberly; "and I ain't saying a word, not a word, mind you!"--the glove that lightly emphasized this displayed all fingers widely and generously spread. "The captain'll tell you he ain't having to tell me, like some of 'em, to be careful about keeping off the grass"--he shrugged--"oh, well, perhaps enough said!"--and he turned away. Then he turned back. "Of course, that other part of it"--it would seem that his club, extended pistol-like, was not leveled at Jenkins so much as at the pajamas--"of course, nobody can't _help_ that--that's Nature--I'm some that way myself, though nothing like _so_ much, and nothing like so heavy as I was. We'll leave that part out of it--_I'm_ willing--but, _gentlemen_"--Jenkins paled, and swayed so horribly, I was almost sure he would go--"when it comes to--comes to--" With a helpless head-shake, he gave it up and contented himself with expectorating violently upon the ground. Then he moved slowly away.