“‘Something like a dozen times,’ says he.
“‘Always from a distance?’ says I.
“‘Always from quite a distance,’ says he.
“‘And you loved her?’ I asked.
“‘She seemed my ideal of beauty and grace—and soul,’ says Arthur.
“‘And this keepsake that you keep under lock and key, and moon over at times, is that a remembrance from her?’
“‘A memento,’ says Arthur, ‘that I have treasured.’
“‘Did she send it to you?’
“‘It came to me from her,’ says he.
“‘In a roundabout way?’ I asked.
“‘Somewhat roundabout,’ says he, ‘and yet rather direct.’
“‘Why didn’t you ever meet her?’ I asked. ‘Were your positions in life so different?’
“‘She was far above me,’ says Arthur. ‘Now, Ida,’ he goes on, ‘this is all of the past. You’re not going to be jealous, are you?’
“‘Jealous!’ says I. ‘Why, man, what are you talking about? It makes me think ten times as much of you as I did before I knew about it.’
“And it did, Lynn—if you can understand it. That ideal love was a new-one on me, but it struck me as being the most beautiful and glorious thing I’d ever heard of. Think of a man loving a woman he’d
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