upstairs and brought down the framed photograph wrapped lovingly in a white silk scarf. Mr. Donovan surveyed it with inscrutable eyes.
“He gave me this the night he left for Italy,” said Miss Conway. “I had the one for the locket made from this.”
“A fine-looking man,” said Mr. Donovan, heartily. “How would it suit you, Miss Conway, to give me pleasure of your company to Coney next Sunday afternoon?”
A month later they announced their engagement to Mrs. Scott and the other boarders. Miss Conway continued to wear black.
A week after the announcement the two sat on the same bench in the downtown park, while the fluttering leaves of the trees made a dim kinetoscopic picture of them in the moonlight. But Donovan had worn a look of abstracted gloom all day. He was so silent to-night that love’s lips could not keep back any longer the questions that love’s heart propounded.
“What’s the matter, Andy, you are so solemn and grouchy to-night?”
“Nothing, Maggie.”
“I know better. Can’t I tell? You never acted this way before. What is it?”
“It’s nothing much, Maggie.”
“Yes it is; and I want to know. I’ll bet it’s some other girl you are thinking about. All right. Why
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