hundred things. Have you—killed—anything lately?'
I could swear she flushed again. Her voice trembled as she answered,—
'No, not lately.'
I caught sight of his face behind her back, and I thought I saw a trace of puzzle—nothing more. He held out his hand.
'Well, so glad to have seen you, Miss Phaeton,' said he, 'but I must run on. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Gay,' said she.
And, lifting his hat again, smiling again gaily, he was gone. For a moment or two I said nothing. Then I remarked,—
'So that's your friend Gay, is it? He's not a bad-looking fellow.'
'Yes, that's him,' said she, and, as she spoke, she sank back in her seat for a moment. I did not look at her face. Then she sat up straight again and took the whip.
'Want to stay any longer?' she asked.
'No,' said I.
The little groom sprang away. Rhino and Ready dashed ahead.
'Shall I drop you at the club?' she asked. 'I'm goin' home.'
'I'll get out here,' said I.
We came to a stand again, and I got down.
'Good-bye,' I said.
She nodded at me, but said nothing. A second later the carriage was tearing down the road, and the little groom hanging on for dear life.
Of course it's all nonsense. She's not the
