She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. “You are late,” she murmured. Oh, don't worry. It slipped out—as did that “she”. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. “We parted— that night the best of friends.
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