It was only a few seconds in the long evening--less than a second that their eyes met; but it was enough to be remembered forever; though why--you say! It was all so commonplace; there was nothing in it that you would have thought worth remembering for a moment.

"Bob, did you take my gloves ?" "Why, did you lose them ?" and then a glance of the eyes.

Surely there are more romantic words than these.

But when a man and a woman go in for collecting antiques in their dialogues, Heaven only knows what old rubbish you will find in their attics, scoured off and rebuilt and polished with secret tears until the old stuff glows like embers.
And that is why, when the music was silent in Culpepper Hall, and the tall young man walked slowly home alone, as he clicked his own gate behind him, he brought from his pocket two little white gloves,--just two ordinary white gloves,--and held them to his lips and lifted his arms in despair once and let them drop as he stood before his doorstep.

And that is why a girl, a little girl with the weariest face in the town, looked out of her bedroom window that night and whispered over and over to herself the name she dared not speak.