“Thank you; you may be assured that it was not an agreeable duty,” returned the publisher, with a shrug of his shoulders, adding, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes, “and if Virgie were my daughter I think you would not have found me a very obdurate parent. Truly, young man, I like you exceedingly well, and when we go back to New York, I will do all in my power to favor your suit, if you are then of the same mind as now.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Rupert said, gratefully, “and now, as I may not have another opportunity to make the request, if you will give me Miss Alexander’s address, I shall consider it a favor.”
Mr. Knight drew forth a card and wrote it for him, wondering why he should speak as he had done about not having another opportunity to get it.
A little later they returned to the hotel, where Rupert at once sought the manager of the excursion, and did not join the company again for an hour or more.
Then it seemed as if a change had come over him. He was quiet and preoccupied, almost spiritless. Virgie noticed it, and wondered what could have occurred to make him so. He did not devote himself as exclusively as usual to her, although he was never far away from her.
When the party broke up for the night, after an unusually merry evening, he went to her with a sinking heart.
She looked up at him with shy eyes and a dimpling smile, that almost made him break a resolve that he had made since he last saw her.
“You have not been like yourself this evening, Mr. Hamilton,” she said. “Have you had bad news, or are you not quite well?”
“Neither, Miss Alexander,” he replied, looking down upon her bright face with eyes that kindled and glowed in spite of the restraint that he was imposing on himself. “I am simply experiencing a good deal of regret that I must leave some of my pleasant companions; I am going to join a party for Mexico immediately.”
“Are you?” Virgie asked, with a start, and looking greatly surprised, while she lost some of her lovely color.