"It had my monogram embroidered in one corner."
"Indeed!" said Barnabas.
"Yes; I was--hoping--that you had seen it, perhaps?"
"On a bramble-bush," said Barnabas, nodding at the moon.
"Then--you did find it, sir?"
"Yes; and I beg to remind you that my name--"
"Where is it?"
"In my pocket."
"Then why couldn't you say so before?"
"Because I wished to keep it there."
"Please give it to me!"
"Why?"
"Because no man shall have my favors to wear until he has my promise,
also."
"Then, since I have the one--give me the other."
"Mr. Beverley, you will please return my handkerchief," and stopping
all at once, she held out her hand imperiously.
"Of course," sighed Barnabas, "on a condition--"
"On no condition, sir!"
"That you remember my name is Barnabas."
"But I detest your name."
"I am hoping that by use it may become a little less objectionable,"
said he, rather ponderously.
"It never can--never; and I want my handkerchief,--Barnabas."
So Barnabas sighed again, and perforce gave the handkerchief into
her keeping. And now it was she who smiled up at the moon; but as
for Barnabas, his gaze was bent earthwards.
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