“I’m off!” he said, with animation. “I’ve got through with the customs, and have come to wish you good-by. Mr. Rosevelt says he is going to take care of you. I hope everything will come out right for you, Miss Star, and that you’ll find a pleasant home with your friends. I’m very sorry that you’ve lost their address, for I’d call and see you before I go back to England if I knew where to find you. I trust, however, that we shall meet again, sometime; and—will you please always consider me your friend?”
He placed a card in her hand as he spoke, and she saw that his address was written upon it.
“Thank you,” she said, with a rising flush. “I shall never forget you, for you have been very kind to me. But wait—I nearly forgot to give you your pin,” she concluded, suddenly remembering that she still had it, and she took the beautiful cameo head from her shawl and held it out to him.
“Please keep it as a souvenir,” he said, gently, adding: “And I wish you had something to give me in exchange.”
“I’ve lost everything, you know. I could give you naught but a ‘tress of my yellow hair,’” Star said, with a light laugh, and lifting the heavy braid which lay over her shoulder with a look of mock dismay.
“Oh, would you?” he asked, eagerly, and taking her literally at her word.
“It would be but a poor return for this lovely cameo,” she answered, flushing beneath his eager glance.
“No, indeed, it would not,” he returned, earnestly. “May I have just a lock of its shining gold, please, Miss Star?” and his fingers touched the massive braid almost tenderly.
“I have nothing with which to cut it off, and—I’m afraid it would be very foolish,” she said, with drooping eyes, but a quickly beating heart.
For answer, he drew a tiny pair of scissors from one of the pockets of his vest, and held them out to her with a smile.