write the note. She meant to give me a pleasure, but she did wrong.”
“Yes,” thought I, “how wrong you little know or realize.” But I only said, “You must be guided by someone with more knowledge of the world after this. Not,” I made haste to add, struck by the misery in her child eyes, “that any harm has been done. You could not have appealed to the friendship of anyone who would hold you in greater respect than I. Whether we meet again or not, my memory of you shall be sweet and sacred, I promise you that.”
But she threw out her hand with a quick gesture. “No, do not remember me. My only happiness will lie in the thought you have forgotten.” And the last remnants of the child soul vanished in that hurried utterance. “You must go now,” she continued more calmly. “The carriage that brought you is at the door; I must ask you to take it back to your home.”
“But,” I exclaimed with a