Good-bye, and thank you once
more."
"Good-bye," said Stephen, and added to himself that he would not soon
again see so pretty a child; as fresh, as frank, or as innocent. He had
known several delightful American girls, but never one like this. She
was a new type to him, and more interesting, perhaps, because she was
simple, and even provincial. He was in a state of mind to glorify women
who were entirely unsophisticated.
He did not see the girl getting into the train at Calais, though he
looked for her, feeling some curiosity as to the stepmother and the
sister whom he had imagined prostrate in the ladies' cabin. By the time
he had arrived at Paris he felt sleepy and dull after an aggravating
doze or two on the way, and had almost forgotten the red-haired child
with the vivid blue eyes, until, to his astonishment, he saw her alone
parleying with a _douanier_, over two great boxes, for one of which
there seemed to be no key.
"Those selfish people of hers have left her to do all the work," he said
to himself indignantly, and as she appeared to be having some difficulty
with the official, he went to ask if he could help.
"Thank you, it's all right now," she said. "The key of my biggest box is
mislaid, but luckily I've got the man to believe me when I say there's
nothing in it except clothes, just the same as in the other. Still it
would be very, very kind if you wouldn't mind seeing me to a cab.
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