too, as part of this pleasant prospect which belongs to us all, rather
than recall you in anybody's particular setting."
"I know," said Blanche, with equal directness, "that houses are one of
the defects of our civilization; but I don't think I ever heard the idea
as elegantly expressed before. Where do you go?"
"I don't know yet. I have several plans. I may go to South America and
become president of one of the republics,--I am not particular which. I
am rich, but in that part of America which lies outside of Greyport it
is necessary for every man to have some work. My friends think I
should have some great aim in life, with a capital A. But I was born a
vagabond, and a vagabond I shall probably die."
"I don't know anybody in South America," said Blanche, languidly. "There
were two girls here last season, but they didn't wear stays in the
house, and their white frocks never were properly done up. If you go to
South America, you must write to me."
"I will. Can you tell me the name of this flower which I found in your
greenhouse. It looks much like a California blossom."
"Perhaps it is. Father bought it of a half-crazy old man who came here
one day. Do you know him?"
Islington laughed. "I am afraid not. But let me present this in a less
business-like fashion."
"Thank you. Remind me to give you one in return before you go,--or will
you choose yourself?"
They had both risen as by a common instinct.
"Good by."
The cool flower-like hand lay in his for an instant.
"Will you oblige me by putting aside that leaf a moment before I go?"
"But my eyes are red, and I look like a perfect fright."
Yet, after a long pause, the leaf fluttered down, and a pair of very
beautiful but withal very clear and critical eyes met his. Islington was
constrained to look away. When he turned again, she was gone.
"Mister Hislington,--sir!"
It was Chalker, the English groom, out of breath with running.
"Seein' you alone, sir,--beg your pardon, sir,--but there's a person--"
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