The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. "I did not know … that it was … like that!" She stepped back; but as his hands fell she caught and held them tightly.
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