ly is the name of my girl friend."

"Ah, truly."

Then he was silent, and she was silent, and the lights of Lucerne
continued to draw nearer and nearer.

"I wonder if I shall really never see you again," he said, after a long
interval.

"I wonder."

"It is very unlikely that we shall ever meet again."

"Very."

In spite of herself her voice sounded dry.

"Where is your bank address?"

"Deutsches-Filiale, Munich, while I am in this part of the world. But
why? Were you thinking of writing me weekly?"

"Oh, no," he said hastily, "but I might send you a _carte-postale_
sometimes, if you liked."

She felt obliged to laugh.

"Would you send a colored one, or just one of the regular _dix-centime_
kind," she inquired with interest.

Von Ibn contemplated her curiously.

"You have such a pretty mouth!" he murmured.

She laughed afresh.

"But with the stamp it is fifteen _centimes_ anyway," he continued.

"Stamp, what stamp? Oh, yes, the postal card," she nodded; and then, "I
never really expect to see you again, but I'm glad, very glad that I met
you, because you have interested and amused me so much."

"American men are so very stupid, are they not?" he said
sympathetically.

"No, indeed," she cried indignantly; "American men are charming, and
they always rise and give their seats to women in the trams, which the
men here never think of doing."

"You need not speak to me so hotly," said Von Ibn, "I always take a
cab."

The ending of his remark was sufficiently unexpected to cause a short
break in the conversation; then Rosina went on:

"I saw a man do a very gallant thing once, he hurried to carry a poor
old woman's big bundle of washing for her because the tram stopped in
the wrong place and she would have so far to take it. Wasn't that royal
in him?"

He did not appear impressed.

"Does that man take the broom and sweep a little for the street-cleaner
when he meets her?" he asked, after a brief period for reflection.

"We do not have women street-cleaners in America."

Then he yawned, with no attempt at disguise. She felt piqued at such an
open display of ennui, and turned from him to the now brilliant shore
past which they were gliding.

After a minute or two he took out his note-book and pencil.

"Deutsches-Filiale, Munich, you said, did you not?"

She nodded.

"Can you write my name?" he asked.

"If strict necessity should drive me to it."

"Write it here, please."

He held the