"Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently.
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