group gathered close around the fire listening to Lem Collin's attempt
at a ghost story. She was not there. He found her, then, in the parlour.
She was kneeling on the floor before the glass cabinet of curiosities,
and she had quite flattened her little nose against the pane. At his
exclamation she looked up with a laugh.

"This is the proper altitude from which to view a cabinet of
curiosities," said she, "and something tells me you ought to flatten
your nose, too." She held out both hands to be helped up. "Oh, WHAT a
house for a child!" she cried.

After the company had gone, Orde stood long by the front gate looking up
into the infinite spaces. Somehow, and vaguely, he felt the night to be
akin to her elusive spirit. Farther and farther his soul penetrated
into its depths; and yet other depths lay beyond, other mysteries, other
unguessed realms. And yet its beauty was the simplicity of space and
dark and the stars.

The next time he saw her was at her own house--or rather the house of
the friend she visited. Orde went to call on Friday evening and was
lucky enough to find the girls home and alone. After a decent interval
Jane made an excuse and went out. They talked on a great variety of
subjects, and with a considerable approach toward intimacy. Not until
nearly time to go did Orde stumble upon the vital point of the evening.
He had said something about a plan for the week following.

"But you forget that by that time I shall be gone," said she.

"Gone!" he echoed blankly. "Where?"

"Home," said she. "Don't you remember I am to go Sunday morning?"

"I thought you were going to stay a month."

"I was, but I--certain things came up that made it necessary for me to
leave sooner."

"I--I'm sorry you're going," stammered Orde.

"So am I," said she. "I've had a very nice time here."

"Then I won't see you again," said Orde, still groping for realisation.
"I must go to Monrovia to-morrow. But I'll be down to see you off."

"Do come," said she.

"It's not to be for good?" he expostulated. "You'll be coming back."

She threw her hands palm out, with a pretty gesture of ignorance.

"That is in the lap of the gods," said she.

"Will you write me occasionally?" he begged.

"As to that--" she began--"I'm a very poor correspondent."

"But won't you write?" he insisted.

"I do not make it a custom to write to young men."

"Oh!" he cried, believing himself enlightened. "Will you answer if I
write you?"