A Counterfeit Presentment; and, The Parlour Car

by William Dean Howells

Miss G.—"No, thanks." She puts up her handkerchief to her face.

Mr. R.—"Lucy, do you send me away?"

Miss G., behind her handkerchief.—"You were going, yourself."

Mr. R., over his shoulder.—"Shall I come back?"

Miss G.—"I have no right to drive you from the car."

Mr. R., coming back, and sitting down in the chair nearest her.—"Lucy, dearest, tell me what's the matter."

Miss G.—"Oh, Allen, your not knowing makes it all the more hopeless and killing. It shows me that we must part; that you would go on, breaking my heart, and grinding me into the dust as long as we lived." She sobs. "It shows me that you never understood me, and you never will. I know you're good and kind and all that, but that only makes your not understanding me so much the worse. I do it quite as much for your sake as my own, Allen."

Mr. R.—"I'd much rather you wouldn't put yourself out on my account."

Miss G., without regarding him.—"If you could mortify me before a whole roomful of people as you did last night, what could I expect after marriage but continual insult?"