"Oh, nothing," says I; "only—only it sounds a long ways off. And, say, you don't happen to have a spare photo, do you, maybe one taken in that dress you wore the night of the ball?"
"Silly!" says she. "But suppose I have?"
"Why," says I,—"why, I thought—well, say, it wouldn't do any harm to leave my new address, would it! That's the number, care of Mrs. Zenobia Preble."
"Zenobia!" says she. "Why, I know who she is. Do you live with——"
"I'm half adopted already," says I. "Bully old girl, ain't she? And say, Miss Vee——"
It was just about then I had the feelin' that some one was tryin' to butt in on this two-part dialogue of ours, and as I looks up, sure enough there's Mr. Robert, with his eyes wide and his mouth half open, watchin' us.
"Well, it's all over," says I. "Mr. Robert's waitin' for me. Good luck and—and——Oh, what's the use? Give my regards to Europe, will you? Good-by!" And with that we shakes hands and I breaks away.
"I don't wish to seem curious," says Mr. Robert, as we walks out to his cab, "but—er—is this something recent?"
"Not very," says I. "We've met before."
"Then allow me," says he, "to congratulate you on your good taste."