“Zitli,” she cried, “I shall never see the Châlet again! never, never, never! I am going away, across the ocean, to America. My heart is broken, so I shall not live long, do you see? I am glad of that, of course, because I have to be cheerful, and that is not easy with a broken heart—Zitli! you are laughing at me!”
A quick flush swept over Honor’s face. Zitli, instantly responsive, seized her hand.
“Forgive me, mademoiselle! I implore your forgiveness!” he cried. “I was not laughing, only smiling. Mademoiselle looks so—in fine, so other than heart-broken.”
“Looks mean little!” Honor was really hurt. She had thought Zitli would understand. She longed to quote to him the lines which seemed so appropriate to her condition:
“When hollow hearts shall wear a mask
’Twill break thine own to see,
In such a moment I but ask
That you’ll remember me!”
Patricia laughed at them, and said they made neither sense nor poetry, but Maria thought them lovely.
“Looks mean little!” she repeated. “I thought you would understand, Zitli!”