"One more," they shouted, "only one more, and her slippers shall be
filled with gold dust." She slipped out of her little sandals and stood,
blushing modestly, hiding her silken feet under her long, wide skirts.
"You are very kind to a lonely stranger," she called, to an instantly
silenced audience, "and I will sing for you a song which has but lately
come from London. 'Tis from a new opera called the Bohemian Girl,
composed by Master Balfe," and folding her little hands before her, she
sang sweetly, "Then You'll Remember Me."
"When other lips and other hearts their tales of love shall tell
Of days that have as happy been, and you'll remember - you'll remember
me."
"Dick, why do you cover your eyes? You are surely not asleep?"
"By all the Gods, man, the accusation is an insult," with a haughty
flash of his great eyes.
"You are to be presented; have you forgotten?"
"Forgotten! While life lasts, I shall remember this night."
"Hush, this is the last. She is singing, "Home, Sweet Home'."
"Yes, 'Home,' for these wanderers from all over the earth.
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