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"We've got a letter for you from her!" exclaimed Camille.

My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"I'm willing," I responded, and we all laughed. The younger horseman asked my name. "Smith," I said, with dignity, and they laughed again, their laugh growing louder when I would not smile.

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Lit with foolish hope to hear thy fondling sighs, Like yon twilight dove's, breathe, Return, return!

I said with genuine warmth that if he would give me that man's name--etc.

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