dings I had since endured, she would pity me, and forgive me,
forgetting all that had occurred "as a dream when one awaketh?" I was
sure she would; and I gained renewed courage from the impression.

I now bethought me how I should next present myself before her. In
accordance with the usages of conventionality, it would be right for me
to make an early call at Mrs Clyde's, in recognition of her late
assembly; and, unless I should chance to meet Min out alone, I would
have no chance of making my apology before then, while, even on that
occasion, the presence of her mother might prevent my speaking to her as
openly as I wished. What should I do?

I determined, under the circumstances, and from the fact of our being
such old friends--she had said so herself, had she not?--that I would
make her a little peace-offering, in the shape of a present of some sort
or other.

This did not occur to me with the idea of propitiating her as an
offended goddess, sacrifices being out of date in the existing era--
except those to Moloch! No, such a thought never occurred to me for a
moment.

Min was not the class of girl whose pardon or good-will could be
purchased, as is frequently the case, perhaps, with others of her sex!

What suggested the scheme to me was, my not having made her any birthday
gift, as her other friends, without exception, had done. It is "never
too late to mend;" so, why should I not take her a little present now,
to show her that she lived in my heart and had not been intentionally
forgotten? If she accepted my offering, good. I should then be certain
that she extenuated my gaucherie at her party, whether I got speech with
her or no. Yes, that would be the proper course for me to pursue.
Would you not have thought so in a like contingency?

The present being decided on, what should I get for her? Flowers,
photographs, books, music, and all those delicate nothings, which people
generally tender as souvenirs for other people's acceptance, she had in
abundance.

None of these would do at all. I wanted her to have some special, out-
of-the-way something from me, which would always call the giver before
her mind whenever she saw it. You may think my wish a selfish one,
perhaps, but we generally like to be remembered by those we love. I
think so, at least; and, I do not believe I am a very exceptional
individual.

What should my gift be? It would not be proper for me to offer, nor was
it likely that