"Of course you appreciate," I said, rising, "my hopes in telling you all this."
She had taken one of the roses from the vase and was arranging it in the front of her dress. Suddenly, looking up, "Leave it to me, leave it to me!" she cried. "I'm interested!" And with her little blue-gemmed hand she tapped her forehead. "I'm interested,—don't interfere!"
And with this I had to content myself. But more than once, for the day following, I repented of my zeal, and wondered whether a providence with a white rose in her bosom might not turn out a trifle too human. In the evening, at the Kursaal, I looked for Pickering, but he was not visible, and I reflected that my revelation had not as yet, at any rate, seemed to Madame Blumenthal a reason for prescribing a cooling-term to his passion. Very late, as I was turning away, I saw him arrive,—with no small satisfaction, for I had determined to let him know immediately in what way I had attempted to serve him. But he straightway passed his arm through my own and led me off toward the gardens. I saw that he was too excited to allow me prior speech.
"I've burnt my ships!" he cried, when we were out of earshot of the crowd. "I've told her everything. I've insisted that it's simple torture for me to wait, with this idle view of loving her less. It's
