"It isn't over," he said. "You sha'n't say it's over. The present may be as beautiful as the past."
She shook her head; "Can we work miracles? Can I make myself a girl again, or you a boy?"
"Yes, if you've not forgotten what you felt for me. If the memories are not all mine, you can even do that. You see I'm a fool still; I—I half hoped that you'd remember.... Joan, 'you were not once so wise!'"
"Ah!" she said. "If I were younger now—or if you had been older then—who knows?"
"Could you sing that song still?" he asked. "Listen." He opened the piano, and played a few bars. "Can you?"
"Oh!" She forced a laugh. "It was too long ago. And what a song besides!"
"Try," he pleaded. "Try it!"
"I can't remember the words," she murmured
"The words?—
'You tell me, Love, that I'll forget you—
I own it, in our last "good-bye,"'