“It is your English E, but not my letter.”
“How do you spell your name?”
“Oh!”
She laughed, and he laughed with her.
“That was very stupid in me,” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” he replied, with one of his rare smiles; “but I would have said nothing, only that at the Poste Restante I shall lose all my letters from you.”
“All! what leads you to suppose that there would ever be any?”
He turned and looked steadily at her, his eyes widely earnest.
“What, not even a post card?”