I wish"-- he hesitated a moment--"that I might have something of yours--some little memento--to take with me on my trip." Millicent took a tiny bunch of flowers from the lace at the neck of her white dress, and handed them to him with a smile.
"Will these do?
They won't last very long." "They will last a long time, well taken care of.

When I come back, I will show them to you." "But I shall be in England then." "England is not very far off; and I'm a wanderer, you know." "Well," she said with faint confusion, "unless you hurry you will miss your train.

Good-by, and good fortune!" He took the hand she gave him and held it a moment.
"If your last wish is ever realized, I shall come to thank you, even in England." He turned and went out with hurried steps, wondering what had led him to break through the reserve he had prudently determined to maintain.
What he had said might mean nothing, but it might mean much.

He had seen Millicent Graham for a few minutes in her father's house, and afterward met her every day during the week spent in Montreal; but, brief as their friendship had been, he had yielded to her charm.

Had he been free to seek her love, he would eagerly have done so; but he was not free.