The taxicab came to a standstill. The man got down and opened the door.
Burton half sulkily stepped out on to the pavement.
"Well, here you are," he announced. "Can't say that I think much of you
this evening."
She held out her hand. They were standing on the pavement now, in the
light of a gas-lamp, and with the chauffeur close at hand. She was not
in the least afraid but there was a lump in her throat. He looked so
very common, so far away from those little memories with which she must
grapple!
"Mr. Burton," she said, "good-night! I want to thank you for this
evening and I want to ask you to promise that if ever you are sorry
because I persuaded you to sell those little beans, you will forgive me.
It was a very wonderful thing, you know, and I didn't understand.
Perhaps I was wrong."
"Don't you worry," he answered, cheerfully. "That's all right, anyway.
It's jolly well the best thing I ever did in my life. Got my pockets
full of money already, and I mean to have a thundering good time with
it. No fear of my ever blaming you. Good-night, Miss Edith! My
regards to the governor and tell him I am all on for Menatogen."
He gave his hat a little twist and stepped back into the taxi.
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