He took from his breast-pocket a little Greek flag of silk, neatly folded. Berenice flushed, recognizing a favor which she had given him early in the evening.
"Now this," he said, "I put away next to my heart, you observe."
"The giver would be flattered," Berenice observed. "Was it Clare
Tophaven?"
He looked at her, laughing; then seemed to reflect.
"I don't know that it is right to tell you," he returned; "but if you won't mention it, I'll confide to you that it must have been Miss Tophaven. Sweet girl."
"Very. Are congratulations in order?" Berenice inquired.
She was pleased that the talk had taken this bantering tone, and secretly determined to keep it away from dangerous seriousness.
"Somewhat premature, I should say," Stanford replied. "You see she has no suspicion of my devotion, and her engagement to Fred Springer is to come out next week."
The bit of gossip served Berenice well. She had heard it already, but it was easy to feign surprise, and to chat lightly about the match, as if she had not a thought beyond it in her mind. To her amazement and disconcerting Stanford cut through the light talk to demand with sudden gravity:—
"And when may our engagement be announced, Berenice?"