"Do you remember, Ellen," said I, "how we both cried when I bade you good-bye?"
"Did I?" asked Ellen, mischievously.
"Yes, you little sinner, much more than I did, because I was fourteen and had the dignity of manhood to support."
"Well," said Ellen, "I think I do remember something about it."
"Is it possible! and does your memory serve you still farther; you said that if I would ever come to see you, you would never refuse to kiss me again."
"Why, Frank Byrne, what a fertile invention you have got."
"Not so," I replied, "only an excellent memory, come, now, own the truth, didn't you promise me so?"
"But, Frank, I was a little girl then, and my contracts were not valid you know; however, if—"
"If what?" demanded I, perceiving that she blushed and hesitated.
"Why, if you wish to kiss me, I don't know that I should object a great deal."