Once there was a beautiful story about a girl; but the paper was torn in the middle, and I never knew how it came out." There was great wistfulness in her voice.

It seemed to be one of the regrets of her girlhood that she did not know how that other girl in the story fared.

All at once she turned to him.
"Now tell me about your life," she said.

"I'm sure you have a great deal to tell." His face darkened in a way that made her sorry.
"O, well," said he as if it mattered very little about his life, "I had a nice home--have yet, for the matter of that.

Father died when I was little, and mother let me do just about as I pleased.