'Neither, Len; I do not go.'
'Why, Bertha? Oh! I remember, it is your anniversary,' and I kissed her.
'And you, princess!' I turned to Henrietta.
'Only roses, good my liege.'
What was the opera that night? Pshaw! what a rhetorical affectation this question! as if I could ever forget! Die Zauberflöte, and it rang pure and clear through my thrilled heart. It followed me around to Van Wyck's, where I found Henrietta and Fanny. A compliment to madame, a German with mademoiselle, and home again. A great light streamed out of the drawing room. I pushed the door open. With a cry of joy, Fan rushed into the arms of the grave, fair man who put Bertha off his knee to welcome her. Nap, who had followed us in, for a moment stood transfixed, and Henrietta, more quiet, stood by their side, saying: 'Here is Harry, Fred, when you choose to see her.' And he did choose, her own brother, whom she had not seen for three years!
'Come in, Nap,' I said. 'Fred Ruyter.'
'Nap and Fanny,' I whispered; Fred smiled invisibly.
And Bertha? Oh, you know, of course, that she's Bertha Ruyter, and that Fred is her husband, just home from six months in Rio, and exactly a year from his wedding night! Oh, Lionardo! what mellow, transparent, flowing shades drowned us all that night!
'Harry,' I said, the next morning, before I went down town, as I lounged over her sofa, 'you have my emerald?'
'Yes!' and her bright face turned up to mine.