tant.

"I think he said it would be necessary to go to Europe in order to
follow the injunction of the donor. As I am more likely to go to Europe
than he, I relieved him of the necessity and bought his right to a 'high
time.'"

There was a long pause, during which she attempted to withdraw herself
from his side, her little fingers struggling timidly beneath the big
ones.

"Are you a collector of coins?" she asked at length, a perceptible
coldness in her voice.

"No. I am considered a dispenser of coins. Still, I rather like the idea
of possessing this queer bit of money as a pocket-piece. I intend to
keep it forever, and let it descend as an heirloom to the generations
that follow me," he said, laughingly. "Why are you so curious about it?"

"Because it comes from the city and country in which I live," she
responded. "If you were in a land far from your own would you not be
interested in anything--even a coin--that reminded you of home?"

"Especially if I had not seen one of its kind since leaving home," he
replied, insinuatingly.

"Oh, but I have seen many like it. In my purse there are several at this
minute."

"Isn't it strange that this particular coin should have reminded you of
home?"

"You have no right to question me, sir," she said, coldly, drawing away,
only to be lurched back again. In spite of herself she laughed audibly.

"I beg your pardon," he said, tantalizingly.

"When did he give it you?"

"Who?"

"The porter, sir."

"You have no right to question me," he said.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I did not mean to be inquisitive."

"But I grant the right. He gave it me inside of two hours after I first
entered the car."

"At Denver?"

"How do you know I got on at Denver?'

"Why, you passed me in the aisle with your luggage. Don't you remember?"

Did he remember! His heart almost turned over with the joy of knowing
that she had really noticed and remembered him. Involuntarily his glad
fingers closed down upon the gloved hand that lay beneath them.

"I believe I do remember, now that you speak of it," he said, in a
stifled voice. "You were standing at a window?"

"Yes; and I saw you kissing those ladies goodby, too. Was one of them
your wife, or were they all your sisters? I have wondered."

"They--they were--cousins," he informed her, confusedly, recalling an
incident that had been forgotten. He had kissed Mary Lyons and Edna
Burrage--but their brothers were present. "A foolish habit, isn