made it to be offensive. And as I've apparently been successful beyond
my fondest hopes, I will now waft myself away."

There was some kind of struggle in which the lachrymose maiden's whole
anatomy seemed involved, and then a gloved hand went out appealingly.

"Meaning that you're sorry?" inquired the Tyro sternly.

Some sounds there are which elude the efforts of the most
onomatopoeic pen. Still, as nearly as may be--

"Buh!" said the damsel. "Buh--huh--_huh!_"

"Oh, in that case." The Tyro turned back.

There was a long pause, while the girl struggled for self-command,
during which her squire had time to observe with some surprise that she
had a white glove on her left hand and a tan one on her right, and that
her apparel seemed to have been put on without due regard to the
cardinal points of the compass. Through the veil she perceived and
interpreted his appraisal.

"I'm a dowdy frump!" she lamented, half-voiced. "I dressed myself while
Marie was packing. But you needn't be so--so supercilious about it."

"I'm not," protested he, conscience-stricken.

"You are! When you look at me that way I hate you! I'm not sorry I was
nasty to you. I'm glad! I wish I'd been nastier!"

The Tyro bent upon her a fascinated but baleful regard. "Angel child,"
said he in sugared accents, "appease my curiosity. Answer me one
question."

"I won't. What is it?"

"Did you ever have your ears boxed?"

"Never!" she said indignantly.

"I thought as much."

"You'd like to do it, perhaps."

"I'd love to. It would do me--I mean you--so much good."

"Maybe I'll let you if you'll help me get away. I know they'll find me!"
At the prospect the melancholy one once more abandoned herself to the
tragedy of existence. "And you don't do a thing but m-m-make fu-fu-fun
of me."

Contrition softened the heart of the Tyro. "Oh, look here, Niobe," he
began.

"My name _isn't_ Niobe!"

"Well, your nature's distinctly Niobish. I've got to call you
something."

"You haven't! You haven't got to ever speak to me again. They'll find
me, and catch me, and send me back, and I'll marry that--that
_Creature_, if that's what you want."

This was the _argumentum ad hominem_ with a vengeance. "_I_ want? What
on earth have I got to do with it?"

"Nothing! Nobody has anything to do with it. Nobody gives a--a--a _darn_
for me. Oh, I wish I were back home!"

"Now you're talking sense. The pilot-boat is your play."

"Oh! And you said you'd hel