_Mr. Richards_: “That’s true. That’s what made me so easy about it. I knew I could leave it off _any_ time. Well, I will not disturb you any longer, Miss Galbraith.” He throws his overcoat across his arm, and takes up his travelling-bag. “I have failed to guess your fatal—conundrum; and I have no longer any excuse for remaining. I am going into the smoking-car. Shall I send the porter to you for anything?” _Miss Galbraith_: “No, thanks.” She puts up her handkerchief to her face. _Mr. Richards_: “Lucy, do you send me away?” _Miss Galbraith_, behind her handkerchief: “You were going, yourself.” _Mr. Richards_, over his shoulder: “Shall I come back?” _Miss Galbraith_: “I have no right to drive you from the car.” _Mr. Richards_, coming back, and sitting down in the chair nearest her: “Lucy, dearest, tell me what’s the matter.” _Miss Galbraith_: “O Allen! your not _knowing_ makes it all the more hopeless and killing. It shows me that we _must_ part; that you would go on, breaking my heart, and grinding me into the dust as long as we lived.” She sobs. “It shows me that you never understood me, and you never will. I know you’re good and kind and all that, but that only makes your not understanding me so much the worse. I do it quite as much for your sake as my own, Allen.” _Mr. Richards_: “I’d much rather you wouldn’t put yourself out on my account.” _Miss Galbraith_, without regarding him: “If you could mortify me before a whole roomful of people, as you did last night, what could I expect after marriage but continual insult?” _Mr. Richards_, in amazement: “_How_ did I mortify you? I thought that I treated you with all the tenderness and affection that a decent regard for the feelings of others would allow. I was ashamed to find I couldn’t keep away from you.” _Miss Galbraith_: “Oh, you were _attentive_ enough, Allen; nobody denies that. Attentive enough in non-essentials. Oh, yes!” _Mr. Richards_: “Well, what vital matters did I fail in? I’m sure I can’t remember.” _Miss Galbraith_: “I dare say! I dare say they won’t appear vital to you, Allen. Nothing does. And if I had told you, I should have been met with ridicule, I suppose. But I knew _better_ than to tell; I respected myself too _much_.” _Mr. Richards_: “But now you mustn’t respect yourself _quite_ so much, dearest. And I promise you I won’t laugh at the most serious thing. I’m in no humor for it. If it were a matter of life and death, even, I can assure you that it wouldn’t bring a smile to my countenance. No, indeed! If you expect me to laugh, now, you must say something particularly funny.” _Miss Galbraith_: “I was not going to say anything funny, as you call it, and I will say nothing at all, if you talk in that way.”