He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “But if you had?” she said. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. “I have a message from your sister. Suddenly all this makes you human. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together.
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