Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it. ” He looked at her intently. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. He thanked God for this talent of his. He is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake —for mine.
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