In the park she caught a glimpse of water in a fountain, splashing high, then low, with a rainbow in it. Altogether it was a beautiful sight.
The hum of night traffic—the murmur of voices—they flashed past a theatre just sending forth its audience—and all the subdued sights and sounds of the city delighted her again.
Suddenly the taxicab stopped.
“This is the number, Miss,” said the driver.
Helen looked out first. Not much like the same number on Madison Street!
This block was a slice of old-fashioned New York. On either side was a row of handsome, plain old houses, a few with lanterns at their steps, and some with windows on several floors brilliantly lighted.
There were carriages and automobiles waiting at these doors. Evening parties were evidently in progress.
The house before which the taxicab had stopped showed no light in front, however, except at the door and in one or two of the basement windows.
“Is this the place you want?” asked the driver, with some impatience.
“I’ll see,” said Helen, and hopped out of the cab.