“I don’t know when we will ever get to Europe again, and there was so much to see yet—Switzerland, and Rome, and—and——” She struggled bravely to choke back the tears of bitter disappointment that rose to her eyes. “I—I don’t see—why they had to have an old war—anyway,” she sobbed.
For a moment they were alone, and very gently he took her hand in his. “Don’t you worry,” he soothed. “Some time, after we get home, perhaps you will come to New York, and then I’ll show you Broadway. It’s better than anything you can get over here, anyway! Here, I have your handkerchief,” and he abstracted a filmy little square, all lace and no center, from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled uncertainly through her tears. “You must think I’m very childish and foolish—and—everything——”
“Especially the last——”
“Lucile, Lucile, Dad wants to know where you are.” It was Phil’s voice.
“I’m coming,” called Lucile; then, turning to Jack, “Good-by,” she murmured, suddenly very reluctant to have him go.
“Until to-morrow,” he whispered, and was gone.