He was almost speechless with delight. Taking the little gold trifle he at once fastened it in his cap, secretly and securely.
“My ‘mascot’!” he said, triumphantly. “It will mean—ah!—you don’t know what it will mean to me! Everything in life!”
“Sentimental Jack!” and she smiled. “The Philosopher calls me ‘sentimental’—but you are more so than I!”
“Never mind what the Philosopher calls you,” responded Jack. “Just think for a moment if you please of what I call you—the dearest, sweetest ‘rose’ lady in the world!”
A lovely colour suffused her fair face—a true “rose” blush,—but she passed over the endearing compliment with a light gesture of dissent, and as they had unconsciously walked further along the bank of the river than they had at first intended, they turned and retraced their steps back to the open road. Here they shook hands and parted.
“You’ll hear from me very soon!” said Jack as he went, and he lifted his cap and waved it in light adieu.
She watched his agile figure swinging along till it disappeared,—then walking rather slowly herself, entered her own home in thoughtful mood. On the threshold she met the Philosopher. His face wore a grim and saturnine expression.
“Well!” and the exclamation sounded something like a snort. “Have you done playing with wounded soldiers for to-day?”
She looked him full in the eyes.
“Yes,” she replied. He was rather taken aback. He had not expected so simple an affirmative. She moved on to pass him by.