"Yes—stories that never have really happened—but that should have happened."
"Then listen! There was once—many, many years ago—a maid and a man—"
Good gracious—but that story is as old as life itself! He did not realize it, nor did she. It seemed new to them.
The sun of noon was moving towards the west when they remembered that they were hungry.
"You shall come home and lunch with me; will you? Perhaps papa may be there, too," she said. This hope, always renewed with every dawn, always fading with the night, lived eternal in her breast—this hope, that one day she should have her father to herself.
"Will you come?" she asked, shyly.
"Yes. Do you know it will be our first luncheon together?"
"Oh, but you brought me an ice at the dance that evening; don't you remember?"
"Yes, but that was not a supper—I mean a luncheon together—with a table between us and—you know what I mean."
"I don't," she said, smiling dreamily; so he knew that she did.