“One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. “Take me back. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now.
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