“Oh, but Gerald,—­Mr. Halloway, you must say good-by to him you know,” said Phebe, distressed.

“Surely.  I forgot,” replied Gerald, with uncomplimentary sincerity.  She turned back, the faint shade of confusion quite disappearing.  “Good-by, Mr. Halloway.  I wish you success in finding all the Nightingales that you may require.”

“Thank you,” answered Denham, shortly.  “Good-by.”

Phebe glanced up at him quickly.  She noticed a shade of bitterness in his voice for the first time.  He said nothing more, and dropped Gerald’s hand almost immediately.  De Forest bent forward and raised it.  “Am I to be defrauded of a good-night, Miss Vernor, simply because it is not my good-by? Au revoir.”

It seemed to Phebe that he held Gerald’s hand an instant longer when she would have withdrawn it, and that she permitted or at least did not resent it, and before releasing it he stooped and touched her fingers lightly with his lips. “Au revoir,” he said again.

Halloway turned abruptly to Phebe.  “Good-night.”  He spoke almost brusquely, and went directly away, without offering his hand or looking at any of them again.

Phebe followed Gerald into her room when the two girls went up-stairs, and sat watching her friend’s quick movements as she completed some last arrangements for the journey.  It was strangely unlike Phebe not to offer to help her, but somehow Gerald looked so strong and able and self-sufficient, and she herself felt so tired and weak to-night.

“How quiet you are!” said Gerald, folding a soft shawl smoothly over the top of a tray.  “Haven’t you any last message to give me?  Isn’t there any thing you would like me to do for you in New York?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“You are sure?  Well, now I am through and mustn’t keep you up longer.  You have all been exceedingly kind, Phebe, both to myself and that troublesome Olly.  I appreciate it, even though I don’t say as much about it as perhaps some would.”

“Have you really enjoyed it here, Gerald?  Have you been happy?  Will you miss us a little—­just a little—­when you are gone?”

“I shall miss you, child, of course.  You constitute Joppa to me, you know.  And indeed I have enjoyed it here very much, and it has done Olly a world of good.  Good-night, dear.”

Phebe had her arms about her friend at once, clasping her close.  “O Gerald, Gerald, I think it is almost better to have no friends at all, it is so hard—­so cruelly hard—­to part with them, and—­and to lose them!  O Gerald!”

“Parting with them isn’t losing them, you foolish sentimentalist,” returned Gerald, gently unclasping Phebe’s arms.  “Now go to bed.  You look worn out.”

“Just tell me once first, Gerald, that you love me.  I haven’t many to love me.  I need all your love.”

“Of course I love you,” said Gerald.  “You know it without my saying so.  And don’t talk so foolishly.  I never knew a girl with more friends.  Now good-night.”