"What, Mr. Hochenheimer?"
"Nothing. Your—your little shawl, it tickled my hand so."
She leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair and cupped her chin in her palm. Her eyes had a peculiar value—like a mill-pond, when the wheel is still, reflects the stars in calm and unchurned quiet.
"You look just like a little princess to-night, Miss Renie—that pretty shawl and your eyes so bright."
"A princess!"
"Yes; if I had a tin suit and a sword to match I'd ride up on a horse and carry you off to my castle in Cincinnati."
"Say, wouldn't it be a treat for Wasserman Avenue to see me go loping off like that!"
"This is the first little visit we've ever had together all by ourselves, ain't it, Miss Renie? Seems like, to a bashful fellow like me, you was always slipping away from me."
"The flowers and the candies you kept sending me were grand, Mr.
Hochenheimer—and the letter—to-day."
"You read the letter, Miss Renie?"