_Mr. Richards_, quietly: “Yes, I _had_ forgotten those crimes, and I suppose many similar atrocities. I own it, I _am_ forgetful and careless. I was wrong about those things. I ought to have told you why I said that to Miss Morris: I was afraid she was going to work me one. As to that accident I told Mrs. Dawes of, it wasn’t worth mentioning. Our boat simply walked over a sloop in the night, and nobody was hurt. I shouldn’t have thought twice about it, if she hadn’t happened to brag of their passing close to an iceberg on their way home from Europe; then I trotted out _my_ pretty-near disaster as a match for hers,—confound her! I wish the iceberg had sunk them! Only it wouldn’t have sunk her,—she’s so light; she’d have gone bobbing about all over the Atlantic Ocean, like a cork; she’s got a perfect life-preserver in that mind of hers.” _Miss Galbraith_ gives a little laugh, and then a little moan. “But since you are happy, I will not repine, Miss Galbraith. I don’t pretend to be very happy myself, but then, I don’t deserve it. Since you are ready to let an absolutely unconscious offence on my part cancel all the past; since you let my devoted love weigh as nothing against the momentary pique that a malicious little rattle-pate—she was vexed at my leaving her—could make you feel, and choose to gratify a wicked resentment at the cost of any suffering to me, why, I can be glad and happy too.” With rising anger, “Yes, Miss Galbraith. All _is_ over between us. You can go! I renounce you!” _Miss Galbraith_, springing fiercely to her feet: “Go, indeed! Renounce me! Be so good as to remember that you haven’t got me _to_ renounce!” _Mr. Richards_: “Well, it’s all the same thing. I’d renounce you if I had. Good-evening, Miss Galbraith. I will send back your presents as soon as I get to town; it won’t be necessary to acknowledge them. I hope we may never meet again.” He goes out of the door towards the front of the ear, but returns directly, and glances uneasily at Miss Galbraith, who remains with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. “Ah—a—that is—I shall be obliged to intrude upon you again. The fact is”— _Miss Galbraith_, anxiously: “Why, the cars have stopped! Are we at Schenectady?” _Mr. Richards_: “Well, no; not _exactly_; not stopped exactly at _Schenectady_”— _Miss Galbraith_: “Then what station is this? Have they carried me by?” Observing his embarrassment, “Allen, what is the matter? What has happened? Tell me instantly! Are we off the track? Have we run into another train? Have we broken through a bridge? Shall we be burnt alive? Tell me, Allen, tell me,—I can bear it!—are we telescoped?” She wrings her hands in terror. _Mr. Richards_, unsympathetically: “Nothing of the kind has happened. This car has simply come uncoupled, and the rest of the train has gone on ahead, and left us standing on the track, nowhere in particular.” He leans back in his chair, and wheels it round from her.