"No," said Bertha, "she never wastes herself. And, after all, it is Colonel Tredennis who has most reason to congratulate himself. He has not thrown away his time. I am obliged to admit that she once said to me of you, 'Why does he throw away his time? Does he never think at all?' Yes, it is Colonel Tredennis who must be congratulated." It was chiefly of Agnes Sylvestre they talked during the rest of the evening. "She is a person who says very little of herself," was Bertha's comment, "but there is a great deal to say of her." And so there seemed to be. There were anecdotes to be related of her, the charm of her beauty and manner was to be analyzed, and all of her attributes were found worth touching upon. It was Tredennis who took his departure first. When he rose to go, Bertha, who was talking to Arbuthnot, did not at first observe his movement, and when he approached her she turned with an involuntary start. "You--are going now?" she said. "Yes," he answered. "I wish you a pleasant summer and all the rest you require." She stood up and gave him her hand. "Thank you," she replied. "I shall be sure to have the rest." It scarcely seemed more than the ordinary conventional parting for the night; to Tredennis it seemed something less. There were only a few words more, and he dropped her hand and went out of the room. He had certainly felt that this was the last, and only a powerful effort of will held in check a feeling whose strength he would have been loath to acknowledge. "Such things are always a wrench," he said, mentally. "I never bore them well." And he had barely said it when he heard Bertha cross the parlor quickly and pass through the door. He had bent to take up a paper he had left on the hat-stand, and when he turned she was close to him. Something in her look was so unusual that he recognized it with an inward start. Her eyes were a little dilated, and her breath came with soft quickness, as if she had moved rapidly and impulsively. She put out both her hands with a simple, sudden gesture, and with an action as simple and unpremeditated he took them and held them in his own. "I came," she said, "to say good-by again. All at once I seemed to--to realize that it would be months before I--we saw you again. And so many things happen, and--" She stopped a second, but went on after it. "When I come back," she said, "I shall be well and strong, and like a new person. Say good-by to this person;" and a smile came and went as she said it. "A moment ago," he answered, "I was telling myself that good-byes were hard upon me." "They--they are not easy," she said.