"I surely would!" he said cordially, offering his hand in adieu—"I want to ask you a lot of questions and we can talk over all those jolly old times,"—as though years of comradeship lay behind them instead of an hour or two. Then his glance fell on the slim hand he was shaking, and he saw the strap-watch which he had given her still clasped around her wrist.
"You wear that yet?—that old shooting-watch of mine!" he laughed.
"'I'm glad I saw you,' said the girl; 'I hope you won't forget me.'"
She smiled.
"I'll give you a better one than that next Christmas," he said, taking out a little notebook and pencil. "I'll write it down—'strap-watch for Athalie Greensleeve next Christmas'—there it is! And—will you give me your address?"
She gave it; he noted it, closed his little Russia-leather book with a snap, and pocketed it.