_Miss Galbraith_, rising, and adjusting her dress, and then looking about the car, while she passes her hand through her lover’s arm: “Oh, I do _hate_ to leave it. Farewell, you dear, kind, good, lovely car! May you never have another accident!” She kisses her hand to the car, upon which they both look back as they slowly leave it. _Mr. Richards_, kissing his hand in the like manner: “Good-by, sweet chariot! May you never carry any but bridal couples!” _Miss Galbraith_: “Or engaged ones!” _Mr. Richards_: “Or husbands going home to their wives!” _Miss Galbraith_: “Or wives hastening to their husbands.” _Mr. Richards_: “Or young ladies who have waited one train over, so as to be with the young men they hate.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Or young men who are so indifferent that they pretend to be asleep when the young ladies come in!” They pause at the door and look back again. “‘And must I leave thee, Paradise?’” They both kiss their hands to the car again, and, their faces being very close together, they impulsively kiss each other. Then _Miss Galbraith_ throws back her head, and solemnly confronts him. “Only think, Allen! If this car hadn’t broken _its_ engagement, we might never have mended ours.”