"Well, you are not in school now; and I think we have done a good night's work for everybody concerned. But tell me, did he make love acceptably?"
"I suppose that was what he was doing, sir," she replied demurely, averting her head.
"Suppose?" I laughed.
"Yes; you see, it was my first experience. And he is really very nice, and so honest and kind and gentle that I felt sorry for him."
"Ah! You were sorry for him! Then it's all over, I'm clear out of it. When a woman is sorry for a man—tchk! But tell me, how did his advances compare with mine on those occasions when we met over there by St. Agatha's? I did my best to be entertaining."
"Oh, he is much more earnest than you ever could be. I never had any illusions about you, Mr. Donovan. You just amuse yourself with the nearest girl, and, besides, for a long time you thought I was Helen. Mr. Gillespie is terribly in earnest. When he was talking to me back there in the corner I didn't remember at all that it was he who drove a goat-team in Central Park to rebuke the policeman!"
"No; I suppose with the stage properly set,—with the music and the stars and the water,—one might forget Mr. Gillespie's mild idiosyncrasies."
"But you haven't told me about Helen. Of course she saw through the trick at once."
"She did," I answered, in a tone that caused Rosalind to laugh.
"Well, you wouldn't hurt poor little me if she scolded you!"