"I think you must be a practised pedestrian, for it is very nearly a mile," said Mollie with a silvery little laugh, "and, now, won't you come in for a little rest before you make the return trip?"
Clifford would gladly have accepted the invitation and prolonged his enjoyment of her society for another half-hour, but he did not feel quite justified in doing so upon so short an acquaintance, and so politely excused himself.
"Then some other evening, Mr. Faxon, I shall be happy to have you call if you should feel inclined," Mollie cordially observed greatly to his delight.
"Thank you, Miss Heatherford; it certainly will give me great pleasure to do so, and I shall avail myself of the privilege at an early date," the young man responded, and he was on the point of bidding her good evening when Mollie lifted a shy glance to him and said:
"I feel that I owe you an apology, Mr. Faxon, for not recognizing you a few days ago when you saved me from having a fall from the car, but I was so surprised at the unexpected meeting that I was momentarily embarrassed, and so failed to do my duty."
"Pray do not be disturbed," Faxon returned with a heart-throb of gladness. "I saw you were somewhat overcome, and the omission was not to be wondered at under the circumstances."
"I knew you at once," Mollie continued naively and with charming frankness, "and I feared afterward that you might attribute my seeming neglect to an unworthy motive."
"Indeed, no--I hope I could not so wrong you, although you will allow me to say that I was somewhat disappointed," Clifford replied in the same spirit.
He then bade her a reluctant "good evening," lifted his hat, and went away. It seemed to him that he was walking on air as he retraced his steps up-town.
At last he had met and learned the name of the divinity who for years had been his inspiration, whose fair face and deep blue eyes had haunted both his waking and sleeping hours; whose sweet girlish tones and thrilling words had rung like a melodious refrain in his ears for nearly six long years.
It had been a great trial to him not to know who she was, and he had been more irritated over the fact that Philip Wentworth had refused to give him any information regarding her than he usually allowed himself to become over anything. It had been like a poisoned dagger in his heart when that young man had arrogantly boasted of his engagement to the girl who had given him the cameo, which was the choicest treasure he possessed.