“Oh, well, you’re so foolishly young, yet. But you’ll get over it. Meantime, will you accept a tiny souvenir of the Grand Canal?”
Peter offered her a little gold gondola, of such exquisite workmanship that Patty gave a cry of delight.
“It’s lovely!” she said. “Far too pretty for my ‘memory chain.’ I shall hang it on my watchguard.”
She fastened it to the slender chain that held her watch, and smiled her thanks at Peter.
“I shall always think of you when I see it,” she said; “and sometimes when I don’t.”
“I shall often think of you,” he responded, “and shall look forward to meeting you again sometime, somewhere.”
“Oh, come to New York,” cried Patty; “you are coming, aren’t you? And we’ll have an Italian Days Reunion. Will you come, Floyd? And Flo?”
The other gondola had drifted near again, and all were gaily promising to meet again in New York, when the quay of the railway station was reached, and everybody scrambled out.
Then, in the general flurry of looking after luggage, and getting seats in the train, there was no opportunity for further talk, but Peter said, earnestly: