“There!  Walter,” says Miss Rosa sharply, “now talk about something else.”

But a shadow falls upon the wall outside, preceding a big, softly treading man, finely dressed, who pauses a second before the curtains and then passes on.  Presently comes the waiter with a message:  “Mr. Rolfe says—­”

“Tell Rolfe I’m engaged.”

“I don’t know why it is,” says Goodall, of Memphis, “but I don’t feel as bad as I did.  An hour ago I wanted to die, but since I’ve met you, Miss Rosa, I’d like so much to live.”

The young woman whirls around the table, lays an arm behind his neck and kisses him on the cheek.

“You must, dear boy,” she says.  “I know what was the matter.  It was the miserable foggy weather that has lowered your spirit and mine too—­a little.  But look, now.”

With a little spring she has drawn back the curtains.  A window is in the wall opposite, and lo! the mist is cleared away.  The indulgent moon is out again, revoyaging the plumbless sky.  Roof and parapet and spire are softly pearl enamelled.  Twice, thrice the retrieved river flashes back, between the houses, the light of the firmament.  A tonic day will dawn, sweet and prosperous.

“Talk of death when the world is so beautiful!” says Miss Rosa, laying her hand on his shoulder.  “Do something to please me, Walter.  Go home to your rest and say:  ‘I mean to get better,’ and do it.”

“If you ask it,” says the boy, with a smile, “I will.”

The waiter brings full glasses.  Did they ring?  No; but it is well.  He may leave them.  A farewell glass.  Miss Rosa says:  “To your better health, Walter.”  He says:  “To our next meeting.”

His eyes look no longer into the void, but gaze upon the antithesis of death.  His foot is set in an undiscovered country to-night.  He is obedient, ready to go.

“Good night,” she says.

“I never kissed a girl before,” he confesses, “except my sisters.”

“You didn’t this time,” she laughs, “I kissed you—­good night.”

“When shall I see you again,” he persists.

“You promised me to go home,” she frowns, “and get well.  Perhaps we shall meet again soon.  Good night.”

He hesitates, his hat in hand.  She smiles broadly and kisses him once more upon the forehead.  She watches him far down the aisle, then sits again at the table.

The shadow falls once more against the wall.  This time the big, softly stepping man parts the curtains and looks in.  Miss Rosa’s eyes meet his and for half a minute they remain thus, silent, fighting a battle with that king of weapons.  Presently the big man drops the curtains and passes on.

The orchestra ceases playing suddenly, and an important voice can be heard loudly talking in one of the boxes farther down the aisle.  No doubt some citizen entertains there some visitor to the town, and Miss Rosa leans back in her chair and smiles at some of the words she catches: