"I must be going," said Kathleen. "Good-night."
Hertha dragged her friend toward her and threw her arms about her neck. "If I do go to Brooklyn," she said, "I can still see you sometimes, and you'll come to see me."
"There was a New York man once, Hertha, and he had two daughters, one lived in Australia and one in Brooklyn, and he made one visit in his life to each."
"That's silly!"
"Perhaps. But it's a big city, and if you leave here and go to foreign parts of it, I'm afraid it's good-by."
"Well, it isn't good-by for me, wherever I go." Hertha kissed her friend and held her close. "It's never going to be good-by like that. I love you, Kathleen."
The older woman returned the embrace. "Play with your mates!" she heard in her ears. "Grasp whatever of happiness you can."
"Have you money?" she questioned.
"Yes, enough for my education."
"Oh, how will I ever get along with you away!"