"You mean you are leaving permanently?" queried Nattie, surprised.
"Yes, this is my last day here. Monday I leave town; and so, with much regret that anything unpleasant should have interrupted our acquaintance—although what it was I assure you I do not know, since you deign me no explanation—I will say, not as I would once, au revoir, but good-by."
"Good-by," answered Nattie, forgetting for the moment everything but "C," the old "C," the "C" who had enlivened so many hours, and about whom had dwelt that romantic mystery. "Good-by. Believe me, I shall always remember the many social talks we have enjoyed."
"Possibly we might enjoy them again, if you desired," "C" said then, as if he gave her a chance for explanation or to express such a wish.
But Nattie, recalling now the bears-grease, the musk, the cheap jewelry and their obnoxious possessor, answered only, "Good-by."
CHAPTER VIII
THE FEAST.
Pondering discontentedly over the perplexities of life, a habit she had allowed herself to indulge in quite frequently of late, one day not long after the final exit of the once interesting but now obnoxious "C," Nattie suddenly became aware of a pair of merry brown eyes, belonging to a fine-looking young gentleman, observing her critically, and with apparently no intention of discontinuing their scrutiny. At which, in her present state of temper, Nattie turned very red and very angry. "I am not on exhibition," she thought, indignantly, and rising majestically, went towards him with the curt inquiry,
"Did you wish to send a message, sir?" The young gentleman hesitated, and appeared slightly embarrassed, but did not take his eyes from her face, nevertheless.
"I merely wished to ask the tariff to Washington," he replied, at length.