He was caressing an idea. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. We’re going in. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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