"I love you even when you have ceased to be beautiful," I said with the ardor of the young.
"That is grand! You know old age will sting us by and by, Bart," she answered with a sigh and in a tone of womanly wisdom.
We were nearing the village. She wiped the mud from her prodigious nose and I wet her handkerchief in a pool of water and helped her to wash it. Soon we saw two men approaching us in the road. In a moment I observed that one was Mr. Horace Dunkelberg; the other a stranger and a remarkably handsome young man he was, about twenty-two years of age and dressed in the height of fashion. I remember so well his tall, athletic figure, his gray eyes, his small dark mustache and his admirable manners. Both were appalled at the look of Sally.
"Why, girl, what has happened to you?" her father asked.
Then I saw what a playful soul was Sally's. The girl was a born actress.
"Been riding in the country," said she. "Is this Mr. Latour?"
"This is Mr. Latour, Sally," said her father.
They shook hands.
"I am glad to see you," said the stranger.
"They say I am worth seeing," said Sally. "This is my friend, Mr. Baynes. When you are tired of seeing me, look at him."