In spite of himself our even-pulsed
philosopher flushed also, but instantly removing his hat he
ejaculated:
"I beg your pardon," and passed on.
As Ida joined her cousin at the supper-table she whispered exultantly:
"He has spoken to me."
"Who has spoken to you?"
"Your artist-bear."
"How did that happen?"
"Well, he nearly ran over me--horrid thing! I suppose that's
another of his peculiar ways."
"Did he embrace you?"
"Embrace me! Good heavens, what an escape I have had! So this
too is characteristic of your friend?"
"You said he was a bear. If so, he should have given you a hug on
the first opportunity."
"He didn't have an opportunity, and he never will."
"Poor fellow! It will make him sick if I tell him so. Well, since
it is another case of beauty and the beast, what did the beast
say?"
"He said that it was very proper he should say to me after all his
hatefulness. He said, 'I beg your pardon.'"
"And then I suppose you kissed and made up."
"Hush, you horrid thing. I noticed him no more than I would a
chair that I might have stumbled over."
"Thus displaying that sweet trait of yours--Charity. But I thought
it was he that stumbled over you?"
"A musty, miserable pun! It was he, and I'm delighted it so happened,
that the first time he ever spoke to me he had to ask my pardon.
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