"I go this afternoon," she said. "I have come to bid you farewell—'Farewell! The anchor's weighed! Remember me!'"
"Is that why you are so happy to-day, because you are going away?" I asked, putting a freezing dignity into my tones.
She nodded girlishly, and I admit, as a critic, adorably.
"Yes," she said, "that is just the reason."
We were now in the Public Gardens, and walking along a more quiet path.
"Good-bye, then," I said, holding out my hand.
"No, indeed!" she said; "I shall not allow you to kiss my hand in public!"
And she put her hands behind her with a small, petulant gesture. "Now, then!" she said defiantly.
With the utmost dignity I replied—"Indeed, I had no intention of kissing your hand, Madame; but I have the honour of wishing you a very good day."
So lifting my hat, I was walking off, when, turning with me, Lucia tripped along by my side. I quickened my pace.