He took the book to his desk, wrote upon the fly leaf: "Lily, March the 10th;" then marked "Divided," and returning to the table held the volume toward her.
"Thank you, but indeed, sir, I do not wish to accept it. I much prefer that you should retain it."
He inclined his head, and replaced the book on the marble slab. She rose, and he saw the colour slowly ebbing from her lips.
"Mr. Palma, I hope you will not deny me one great favour. I cannot leave my dog; I must have my Hero."
"Indeed! I thought you had quite forgotten his existence. You have ceased to manifest any interest in him."
"Yes, to manifest, but not to feel. You took him from me, and I was unwilling to annoy you with useless petitions and complaints. You assured me he was well cared for, and that I need not expect to have him while I remained here; now I am going away for ever, I want him. You gave him to me once; he is mine; and you have no right to withhold him any longer."
"Circumstances have materially altered. When you were a little girl I sent you a dog to romp with. Now you are a young lady preparing for European conquests, and having had his day, Hero must retire to the rustic shade of your childhood."
"Years have not changed my feeling for all that I love."
"Are you sure, Lily, that you have not changed since you came to live in New York?"
"Not in my attachment to all that brightened my childhood, and Hero is closely linked with the dear happy time I spent at the parsonage. Mr. Palma, I want him."