as you don't
send me away, for this was my favorite spot before you chose it for
yours."

"I live in New York, and I came abroad early in the summer," began
Tommy.

"I know that already!" interrupted Appleton.

"Oh, I suppose the bishop told you."

"No, I came with you; that is, I was your fellow passenger."

"Did you? Why, I never saw you on the boat."

"My charms are not so dazzling that I expect them to be noted and
remembered," laughed Appleton.

"It is true I was very tired, and excited, and full of anxieties,"
said Tommy meekly.

"Don't apologize! If you tried for an hour, you couldn't guess just
why I noticed and remembered _you_!"

"I conclude then it was not for _my_ dazzling charms," Tommy answered
saucily.

"It was because you wore the only flower I ever notice, one that is
associated with my earliest childhood. I never knew a woman to wear a
bunch of mignonette before."

"Some one sent it to me, I remember, and it had some hideous scarlet
pinks in the middle. I put the pinks in my room and pinned on the
mignonette because it matched my dress. I am very fond of green."

"My mother loved mignonette. We always had beds of it in our garden
and pots of it growing in the house in winter. I can smell it whenever
I close my eyes."

Tommy glanced at him. She felt something in his voice that she liked,
something that attracted her and wakened an instantaneous response.

"But go on," he said. "I only know as yet that you sailed from New
York in the early summer, as I did."

"Well, I went to London to join a great friend, a singer, Helena
Markham. Have you heard of her?"

"No; is she an American?"

"Yes, a Western girl, from Montana, with oh! such a magnificent voice
and such a big talent!" (The outward sweep of Tommy's hands took in
the universe.) "We've had some heavenly weeks together. I play
accompaniments, and--"

"I know you do!"

"I forgot for the moment how much too much you know! I went with her
to Birmingham, and Manchester, and Leeds, and Liverpool. I wasn't
really grand enough for her, but the audiences didn't notice me,
Helena was so superb. In between I took some lessons of Henschel. He
told me I hadn't much voice, but very nice brains. I am always called
'intelligent,' and no one can imagine how I hate the word!"

"It is offensive, but not so bad as some others. I, for example, have
been called a 'conscientious writer'!"

"Oh, are you a writer?"

"Of a sort, yes. But, as yo