ould be consecrated to
Betty Dalrymple.

He had an inkling that on the morrow he would see less of her; the
girl's story would get around. The American consul would call and tender
his services. The governor, too, Sir Charles Somebody, whose palatial
residence looked down on the town from the side of the hill, might be
expected to become officially and paternally interested. The little
cable office, despite rules and regulations, could not long retain its
prodigious secret; moreover Mr. Heatherbloom, in an absent-minded
moment, had inscribed Miss Dalrymple's name on the register, or
visitors' book. He recalled how the eyes of the old mammy, the
proprietress, had fairly rolled with curiosity. No; he would not be
permitted long to have her to himself, he ruminated; better make the
most of his opportunity now. Besides, his present monetary position
forbade his presence for more than a day or two at the "best hotel"; its
rates were for him distinctly prohibitive. The exigencies of financial
differences would soon separate them; she could draw on Miss Van Rolsen
for thousands; he had but five dollars and twelve cents--or was it
thirteen?--to his name.

He kept these reflections, however, to himself and continued to bask in
the sunshine of a fool's paradise. They rode, walked and explored. They
went to the fruit and the flower market. He bought her a great bunch of
flowers, and she not only took it but wore it. For a time he stepped on
air; his flowers constituted a fine splash of color on the girl's gown.
Her heart beat beneath them; the thought was as wine.

"Shall we?" They had partaken of tea (or nectar) in a small shop, and
now she paused before that most modern manifestation of a restless
civilization, a begilded, over-ornamented nickelodeon. "Think of finding
one of them way off here! Just as at home!"

"More extraordinary your wanting to go in!" he laughed.

"Why not? It will be an experience."

They entered; the place was half filled and they took seats toward the
back. There were films, and songs of the usual character; it was very
gay. Gurgles of merriment from Creoles and darkies were heard on all
sides. They, too, yielded freely, gladly to its infection. Happy
Creoles! happy darkies! happy Betty Dalrymple and Horatio
Heatherbloom--heiress and outcast! There is a democracy in laughter; yon
darky smiled at Miss Dalrymple, while Mr. Heatherbloom laughed with
her, with them, and the world. For was she not near