“Please forgive me, Miss Thorn,” he said humbly, as he gave her his arm to leave the room. “I am a very sanguine person, and I often talk great nonsense. Please do not be angry.” Joe paused just as they reached the door.
“Angry? I am not angry,” she said with sudden gentleness. “Besides, you know, this is–you are really going away?”
“I think so,” said John.
“Then, if you do,” she said with some hesitation–“if you do, this is good-by, is it not?”
“Yes, I am afraid it is,” said John; “but not for long.”
“Not for long, perhaps,” she answered; “but I would not like you to think I was angry the very last time I saw you.”
“No, indeed. I should be very sorry if you were. But you are not?”
“No. Well then”–she held out her hand–“Good-by, then.” She had almost hated him a few minutes ago. Half an hour earlier she had loved him. Now her voice faltered a little, but her face was calm.
John took the proffered hand and grasped it warmly. With all her caprice, and despite the strange changes of her manner toward him, she had been a good friend in a bad time during the last days, and he was more sorry to leave her than he would himself have believed.
“Good-by,” he said, “and thank you once more, with all my heart, for your friendship and kindness.” Their hands remained clasped for a moment; then she took his arm again, and he led her out of the dimly-lighted sitting-room back among the brilliant dancers and the noise and the music and the whirling crowd.