First: She was so glad to have had the great pleasure of meeting him.
Second: He was so glad to have had the honor of meeting her and her daughter.
Third: She was so sorry to say good-by.
Fourth: She was a dear lady, and could never know how much pain it “afflicted upon him” to say good-by; but fortunately she was not leaving him hopeless.
The climax had passed.
Gwendolyn got her hand kissed, and so did her mother—there was no dodging that—but it was our last experience with the hand-smackers of Italy.
We had a happy American evening together in the Norris apartments, and Mrs. Norris seemed to enjoy my imitation of her parting with the count. The first occurrence of note in the morning was Mrs. Mullet. She was getting to be a perennial, but she grew a foot that day in our estimation. She had brought with her a note from Muggs. He was very ill in his room and begged her to come and see him as a last favor. What should she do?
“Let's go and see him—you and I and Mrs. Potter,” was my suggestion. “This has all the ear-marks of a case of true love. My professional advice has never been sought in a case of that kind; but come on, let's see what there is to it.”
We went and found Muggs abed, with a high fever. No more nonsense now! I've got to be decently serious for a few minutes. We were amazed to see how the sight of Mrs. Mullet affected him, and how tenderly he clung to her hands, and begged her to forget the man he had been. She turned to me with wet eyes and said:
“I cannot leave him like this. I shall send for a nurse and doctor, and take care of him. He has no friends here.”