Parting is the most dramatic moment in young love, and if there is one time when the lover wishes to present a lofty but graceful appearance it is at the last.  To leave with the loved one, for recollection, a final picture of manly dignity in sorrow—­that, above all things, is the lover’s desire.  And yet, even at the beginning of William’s two-hundred-foot advance (later so much discussed) he felt the heat surging over his ears, and, as he took off his hat, thinking to wave it jauntily in reply to Miss Parcher, he made but an uncertain gesture of it, so that he wished he had not tried it.  Moreover, he had covered less than a third of the distance, when he became aware that all of the group were staring at him with unaccountable eagerness, and had begun to laugh.

William felt certain that his attire was in no way disordered, nor in itself a cause for laughter;—­all of these people had often seen him dressed as he was to-day, and had preserved their gravity.  But, in spite of himself, he took off his hat again, and looked to see if anything about it might explain this mirth, which, at his action, increased.  Nay, the laughter began to be shared by strangers; and some set down their hand-luggage for greater pleasure in what they saw.

William’s inward state became chaotic.

He tried to smile carelessly, to prove his composure, but he found that he had lost almost all control over his features.  He had no knowledge of his actual expression except that it hurt him.  In desperation he fell back upon hauteur; he managed to frown, and walked proudly.  At that they laughed the more, Wallace Banks rudely pointing again and again at William; and not till the oncoming sufferer reached a spot within twenty feet of these delighted people did he grasp the significance of Wallace’s repeated gesture of pointing.  Even then he understood only when the gesture was supplemented by half-articulate shouts: 

“Behind you!  Look behind you!”

The stung youth turned.

There, directly behind him, he beheld an exclusive little procession consisting of two damsels in single file, the first soiled with house-moving, the second with apple sauce.

For greater caution they had removed their shoes; and each damsel, as she paraded, dangled from each far-extended hand a shoe.  And both damsels, whether beneath apple sauce or dust smudge, were suffused with the rapture of a great mockery.

They were walking with their stummicks out o’ joint.

At sight of William’s face they squealed.  They turned and ran.  They got themselves out of sight.

Simultaneously, the air filled with solid thunder and the pompous train shook the ground.  Ah, woe’s the word!  This was the thing that meant to bear away the golden girl and honeysuckle of the world—­meant to, and would, not abating one iron second!

Now a porter had her hand-bag.

Dear Heaven! to be a porter—­yes, a colored one!  What of that, now?  Just to be a simple porter, and journey with her to the far, strange pearl among cities whence she had come!