“I hope I shall see you again,” and the young lady, prompted by a natural impulse of kindness, held out her hand to the little musician. He took it respectfully, and bending over, touched it with his lips.
The young lady, to whom this was quite unexpected, smiled and blushed, by no means offended, but she glanced round her to see whether it was observed by others.
“Upon my word, Florence,” said her father, as Phil moved away, “you have got up quite a scene with this little ragged musician. I am rather glad he is not ten or twelve years older, or there might be a romantic elopement.”
“Now, papa, you are too bad,” said Florence. “Just because I choose to be kind to a poor, neglected child, you fancy all sorts of improbable things.”
“I don’t know where you get all your foolish romance from—not from me, I am sure.”
“I should think not,” said Florence, laughing merrily. “Your worst enemy won’t charge you with being romantic, papa.”
“I hope not,” said her father, shrugging his shoulders. “But the boat has touched the pier. Shall we go on shore, or have you any further business with your young Italian friend?”
“Not to-day, papa.”
The passengers vacated the boat, and were replaced by a smaller number, on their way from Brooklyn to New York.