he interrupted hastily and with
evident perturbation. "I--we must be on our way immediately." She threw
a glance at the gentleman, which let him know that she now comprehended
his gloves, and why their stroll had trended toward Carewe Street. "Come
at once!" she commanded him quickly, in an undertone.

"But now that you're here," said Miss Betty, wondering very much why he
was not presented to her, "won't you wait and let me gather a nosegay
for you? Our pansies and violets--"

"I could help," the gentleman suggested, with the look of a lame dog at
Miss Bareaud. "I have been considered useful about a garden."

"Fool!" Betty did not hear the word that came from Miss Bareaud's closed
teeth, though she was mightily surprised at the visible agitation of
her schoolmate, for the latter's face was pale and excited. And Miss
Carewe's amazement was complete when Fanchon, without more words,
cavalierly seized the gentleman's arm and moved toward the street with
him as rapidly as his perceptible reluctance to leave permitted. But at
the gate Miss Bareaud turned and called back over her shoulder, as if
remembering the necessity of offering an excuse for so remarkable a
proceeding: "I shall come again very soon. Just now we are upon an
errand of great importance. Good-day!"

Miss Betty waved her hand, staring after them, her eyes large with
wonder. She compressed her lips tightly: "Errand!" This was the friend
of childhood's happy hour, and they had not met in two years!

"Errand!" She ran to the hedge, along the top of which a high white hat
was now seen perambulating; she pressed down a loose branch, and called
in a tender voice to the stranger whom Fanchon had chosen should remain
nameless:

"Be sure to put some salve on your hand!"

He made a bow which just missed being too low, but did miss it.

"It is there--already," he said; and, losing his courage after the bow,
made his speech with so palpable a gasp before the last word that the
dullest person in the world could have seen that he meant it.

Miss Betty disappeared.

There was a rigidity of expression about the gentle mouth of Fanchon
Bareaud, which her companion did not enjoy, as they went on their way,
each preserving an uneasy silence, until at her own door, she turned
sharply upon him. "Tom Vanrevel, I thought you were the steadiest--and
now you've proved yourself the craziest--soul in Rouen!" she burst out.
"And I couldn't say worse!"

"Why didn't you pres