Finally we rose to make our departure. While Pembroke was bidding
Ethel a good morning, Phyllis spoke to me.
"The last flowers you sent me were roses," she said softly.
"Were they?" said I. "I had forgotten. Shall I send you some for this
evening?"
It was something in her eyes that I did not understand.
"Thank you, but Mr. Pembroke has promised to do that." And then she
added: "So you have really had two romances?"
"Yes," said I; "and both ended badly."
"Let us hope that the third will be of happier termination," she
smiled. The smile caused me some uneasiness.
"There never will be a third," I said. "It is strange, is it not, when
you think that there might have been--but one? You will give me a
waltz to-night?"
"With pleasure. Good morning."
Pembroke and I passed down the broad stairs. On the street we walked a
block or so in silence.
Finally Pembroke said: "What the deuce made you step on my foot? And
why does she not want me to know that she was in Vienna last winter?"
"Because," said I, "Miss Landors never was in Vienna."
"But, man, my eyes!"
"I do not care anything about your eyes.
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