“Yes, I did—to him.” Then, seeing my look, “I wanted to tease you a little; but I am going to tell you all about it—very soon.”
“I suppose,” I said, after a pause, “it is that fellow who was hurt at Santiago?”
“The very same.”
There was a little awkward silence. Then I arose and stood near her, and she glanced up at me with a droll, fluttering smile. “Does he understand women?”
“No,” she replied softly, yet with some of her old spirit, “he isn’t so foolish as to try. He only understands—me.”
“Oh,” I said.
It was dusk. Somehow the moment was like the end of a chapter. A strange thing had happened, and the Professor—— Who can describe that change which follows the oldest and newest of miracles? It was not the same Professor who shimmered there in the twilight.... No, not the same. Something had gone. And there was a new light in those dauntless eyes.
A little later I saw her at the door, her little gloved hand cajoling for a moment the rebellious bronze of her back hair. I saw her through the window as on the steps she gathered the loose of her gown, flashing the fire of her flounce lining. I saw her flicker for a moment in the windy street. And she was gone.
