"No, Dougal, I'd rather not. It doesn't matter."
"You'll get over it all right, I expect."
"Oh, yes, I'll get over it."
"Anyway, you just want to remember you can call on me any time for anything you want, Fancy, barring guns. Don't get blue when you have good friends to fall back on. We're with you to a finish, old girl!"
"You're a dear!" She flashed a smile at him.
He grinned, and gripped her arm tighter. Then he began to dance her down the sidewalk. Fancy grew hilarious and laughed aloud, excitedly. They began to sing, as they marched, a song they had learned by rote, from Maxim. Neither of them well understood the words:
"Josephine est mor-te,
Morte en faisant sa——
En faisant sa priè-re
A bon Saint Nicolas,
Tu-ra-la!
Ca n'va gu-ère—
Tu-ra-la!
Ca n'va pas!"
They kept it up in this vein till the Ferry Building was reached. There he bought her ticket and took her to the gate. She still smiled, still flung him her odd jests, still clung affectionately to his arm.
"Well, good night, Fancy Gray!" he said at last. "Don't do anything foolish till I see you again!" His grin was like a blessing.
She seemed loath to leave him, and drew back from the gate. She unpinned the little silver watch from her coat and handed it to him.