“You must come out to Yonkers, some day, and see Mr. Rosevelt,” Star said, upon one of these occasions.
“There, I declare, we have found so much else to talk about, that I have not even told you where I live,” she said, laughing.
“And I am invited out to see Mr. Rosevelt, am I?” he asked, with a twinkle of mischief in his fine eyes.
“Yes,” Star returned, demurely. “I know he will be very much pleased to see you—indeed, he said so when I told him of our meeting. He remembers how good to him you were after his rescue.”
“Thanks. Then I shall certainly avail myself of your invitation, and go out to see Mr. Rosevelt some day very soon,” he said, with a grave bow; but his eyes told her that she would be the star to attract him thither.
“You say he remembers what transpired on the steamer. Do you remember, too, Miss Star, how you told me at parting that I should always be your friend—that you would never forget me?”
Star’s glorious eyes drooped, and the quick color rushing upward, stained all her fair face to those soft yellow curls on her forehead.
“I have not forgotten,” she murmured, softly.
“Neither have I, as perhaps this will prove to you,” said the young man, lifting a tiny locket which hung from his watch-chain, and, touching a spring, held it up before her.
It contained nothing save a tress of shining hair, and Star knew in an instant to whom it had once belonged.