"Well, now, as to methods," he began, "theoretically you may be right about publicity and that platform, but practically—well, let's forget it! But, 'Gene—or whatever your damned name is!—don't forget me! Good-by!"
The judge, the professor, Miss Scarlett, and all the rest had gone on their various ways, and Madame le Claire was in one of the inner rooms attended by Aaron, whom she had summoned.
"I'm not going to adopt poor Jim's language yet," said Elizabeth, when she and Florian were again left alone. "'Florian, Florian!'—I like that name. But think how hard it was to learn to call you 'Eugene.' Do you remember where we were when I first called you that?"
"Don't you realize, dearie," said he, "that I know nothing of all that? And except for your sweet letter, I knew nothing of you before that day when I came from New York?"
"O——h!" she cried. "And all the lovely things you did to win me—— Oh, dear, I never thought of that. And you remember nothing—nothing at all? Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful! No wonder I almost hated you that night!"
He put his arm about her and kissed her lingeringly.
"Dearest! Sweetheart!" he said. "The loss is all mine! And to make up for it, you must let me do them all over again—every one, a thousand times. Come, let us go!"
At the door, she stopped and turned back.
"I must see Madame le Claire," said she.
Already the rooms were filled with the disorder of packing, and Aaron was busy preparing for one of their Arab-like flittings. Madame le Claire stood looking down into the street.