"Yes, this is my last day here. Monday I leave town; and so, with much regret that anything unpleasant should have interrupted our acquaintance--although what it was I assure you I do not know, since you deign me no explanation--I will say, not as I would once, _au revoir_, but good-by." "Good-by," answered Nattie, forgetting for the moment everything but "C," the old "C," the "C" who had enlivened so many hours, and about whom had dwelt that romantic mystery. "Good-by. Believe me, I shall always remember the many social talks we have enjoyed." "Possibly we might enjoy them again, if you desired," "C" said then, as if he gave her a chance for explanation or to express such a wish. But Nattie, recalling now the bears-grease, the musk, the cheap jewelry and their obnoxious possessor, answered only, "Good-by." CHAPTER VIII THE FEAST. Pondering discontentedly over the perplexities of life, a habit she had allowed herself to indulge in quite frequently of late, one day not long after the final exit of the once interesting but now obnoxious "C," Nattie suddenly became aware of a pair of merry brown eyes, belonging to a fine-looking young gentleman, observing her critically, and with apparently no intention of discontinuing their scrutiny. At which, in her present state of temper, Nattie turned very red and very angry. "I am not on exhibition," she thought, indignantly, and rising majestically, went towards him with the curt inquiry, "Did you wish to send a message, sir?" The young gentleman hesitated, and appeared slightly embarrassed, but did not take his eyes from her face, nevertheless. "I merely wished to ask the tariff to Washington," he replied, at length. "Forty cents," Nattie answered, shortly. "Thank you," he said, but without moving, and after a moment, as if desirous of opening a conversation, he continued, smiling, "I hardly think I will send a message to-day; I presume you will not object to being spared the trouble?" Nattie, having been quarreling all day with intangible somethings, was rather glad than otherwise to find a real object upon which she could vent the unamiability resulting from her surplus discontent. The young man's evident desire to talk more than circumstances warranted, was displeasing to her, and she rejoined very stiffly, "It is a matter of perfect indifference to me," and turned away. With an amused smile, he looked at the back thus presented to his view, opened his lips to speak, hesitated, and finally walked away. Nattie, looking after him out of the corners of her eyes, saw him glance back as he opened the door, and had a remorseful feeling that perhaps she had been crosser to him than he really deserved, for he was certainly very fine-looking. But what was done could not be undone, and with no expectation of ever seeing him again, she dismissed the matter from her mind.