"
"If I had but known that you were here,"
resumed Ralph, as it were, invisibly expanding
with an agreeable sense of dignity, "I assure
you, you would have been the very first one I
should have sought."
She raised her large grave eyes to his, as if
questioning his sincerity; but she made no
answer.
"Good gracious!" thought Ralph. "She
takes things terribly in earnest."
"You look so serious, Miss Bertha," said he,
after a moment's pause. "I remember you as a
bright-eyed, flaxen-haired little girl, who threw
her German exercise-book to me across the yard,
and whose merry laughter still rings pleasantly
in my memory. I confess I don't find it quite
easy to identify this grave young lady with my
merry friend of three years ago."
"In other words, you are disappointed at not
finding me the same as I used to be."
"No, not exactly that; but--"
Ralph paused and looked puzzled. There
was something in the earnestness of her manner
which made a facetious compliment seem grossly
inappropriate, and in the moment no other
escape suggested itself.
"But what?" demanded Bertha, mercilessly.
"Have you ever lost an old friend?"
asked he, abruptly.
"Yes; how so?"
"Then," answered he, while his features
lighted up with a happy inspiration--"then you
will appreciate my situation. I fondly cherished
my old picture of you in my memory. Now I
have lost it, and I cannot help regretting the
loss. I do not mean, however, to imply that
this new acquaintance--this second edition of
yourself, so to speak--will prove less interesting.
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