"Mr. Van Berg," she exclaimed, "I ought to be indignant, or I ought
to be ashamed to look you in the face. I don't know what I ought
to do, only I'm sure it isn't the proper thing at all for me to be
laughing in this way. I think I'll go home at once, for I'm only
wasting your time.
His answer was not very relevant, for he said impetuously, "Oh,
Miss Ida, I would give five years of my life to be able to paint
your portrait as you now appear, for the picture would cure old
melancholy himself and fill a prison-cell with light."
"I won't come here any more if you laugh at me so," she said,
putting on her hat.
"See," he said, "I'm as grave as a judge. I will never laugh
AT you, but I hope to laugh WITH you many a time, for to tell you
the truth the experience has reminded me of the 'inextinguishable
laughter of the Gods.' Please don't go yet."
"If I must come so often my visits must be brief."
"Then you will come?"
"I haven't promised anything except for to-morrow. Good-morning."
"Let me walk home with you."
"No, positively. You have wasted too much time already."
"You will at least shake hands in token of peace and amity before
we part?"
"Oh, certainly, if you think it worth the while when we are to meet
so soon again.
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