“A declaration”, she laughed merrily, still looking me brightly in the face.
“Not of independence,” I cried, “but of—” as I hesitated between “affection” and “love” the girl put her finger to her lips.
“Hush, hush,” she said gravely, “you are too young to take vows and I must not listen”, but seeing my face fall, she added: “You have been very kind. I shall remember my stay in Chicago with pleasure,” and she stretched out her hand. I took it and held it treasuring every touch.
Her look and the warmth of her fingers I garnered up in my heart as purest treasure.
As soon as she had gone and the radiance with her, I cudgeled my brains to find some pretext for another talk. “She goes tomorrow,” hammered in my brain and my heartache choked me, almost prevented my thinking. Suddenly the idea of flowers came to me. I’d buy a lot. No; everyone would notice them and talk. A few would be better. How many? I thought and thought.
When they came into lounge next day ready to start I was watching my opportunity, but the girl gave me a better one than I could have picked. She waited till her father and Arriga had left the hall and then came over to the desk.
“You have ze checks?” she asked.
“Everything will be given you at the train,” I said, “but I have these for you. Please accept them!” and I handed her three splendid red rosebuds, prettily tied up with maiden hair fern.
“How kind!” she exclaimed, coloring, “and how pretty,” she added, looking at the roses. “Just three?”
“One for your hair,” I said with love’s cunning, “one for your eyes and one for your heart—will you remember?” I added in a low voice intensely.