"Let's run for that train."
"Give me your hand."
They were off and against the wind, their faces thrust forward and upward. Homeward in the coach they were strangely silent, this time his hat in her lap. At the entrance to her apartment-house he left her with reiterated farewells.
"Then I can come to-morrow night, Miss Miriam?"
"Y-yes." And she stepped into the elevator. He waved through the trellis-work, as she moved upward, brandishing his hat. She answered with a flourish of her bunch of violets.
"Good-by!"
At the threshold her mother met her, querulous and in the midst of adjusting summer covers to furniture.
"How late! I hope, Miriam, right away you had the steamer-trunk sent up. Good berths—good state-rooms you got? What you got in that paper, that aloes root I told you to get against seasickness? Gimme and right away I boil it."
"No, no, don't touch them! They—they're violets. Let me put them in water with wet tissue-paper over them."
* * * * *