"When? This evening?"
Her laugh showed the beautiful deep pink and dazzling white behind her lips. "No—I'm going to a party."
"Let me take you."
She shook her head. "You wouldn't like it. Only young people."
"But I'm not so old."
She looked at him critically. "No—you're not. It always puzzled me. You aren't old—you look like a boy lots of the time. But you always seem old to me."
"I'll try to do better. To-night?"
"Not to-night," laughed she. "Let's see—to-morrow's Sunday. Come to-morrow—about half past two."
"Thank you," he said so gratefully that he cursed himself for his folly as he heard his voice—the idiotic folly of so plainly betraying his feelings. No wonder she despised him! Beginning again—and beginning; wrong.
"Good-by." Her eyes, her smile flashed and he was alone, watching her slender grace glide through the throngs of lower Broadway.