"Señor, you are too good. What have I done? I could never——"
"Loretta, the train may start at any moment."
"Señor, I have all I could wish for, excepting——" She hesitated.
"Loretta, the moments are flying."
"Señor, it is too great an object. I have not the courage——"
"Loretta, the guard signals. Another moment and you are lost."
"Well, then, señor, I long for a clock for our mantelpiece. We had made up our minds to wait, and——"
"Loretta, the clock is yours. It shall be pure white. A golden Cupid shall strike the bells. In his other hand he shall hold a glass which turns with the hours, running golden sands. Fare you well, Loretta."
The engine whistled. The carriage moved. Our last look was a vision of a comely woman standing on the platform, a tall erect figure gazing after the train, the reflection of the afterglow lighting up her face to something beyond mere earthly beauty.