"I'll try," he said in a whisper. "Shall I count three?"
She nodded.
"One, two, three," he counted, and they cautiously stretched their legs.
"I now know how the Siamese twins felt," he said, sullenly. "No wonder they died young."
She laughed—a curious, little laugh which was one of the most agreeable sounds he had ever heard.
"I take it for granted," he said, "that you will always cherish for me a wholesome and natural hatred."
"I shall never see you again," she replied, simply.
That silenced him for a while; he fished about in his intellect to find mitigating circumstances. There was none that he knew of.
"Suppose—under pleasanter auspices, we should some day meet?" he suggested.