He walked away a little abruptly. Tavernake glanced at the address upon the card: 1134, East Third Street. For a moment he was puzzled. Then the light broke in upon him suddenly. His heart gave a leap. He turned back into the place to ask for some directions and once more stopped short. Down the stone corridor, like one who flies from some hideous fate, came a slim black figure, with white face and set, horrified stare. Tavernake held out his hands and she came to him with a great wondering sob.
“Leonard!” she cried. “Leonard!”
“There's no doubt about me,” he answered, quickly. “Am I such a very terrifying object?”
She stood quite still and struggled hard. By and by the giddiness passed.
“Leonard,” she murmured, “I am ill.”
Then she began to smile.
“It is too absurd,” she faltered, “but you've got to do it all over again.”'
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Get me something to eat at once,” she begged. “I am starving. Somewhere where it's cool. Leonard, how wonderful! I never even knew that you were in New York.”
He called a carriage and took her off to a roof garden. There, as it was early, they got a seat near the parapet. Tavernake talked clumsily about himself most of the time. There was a lump in his throat. He felt all the while that tragedy was very near. By degrees, though, as she ate and drank, the color came back to her cheeks, the fear of a breakdown seemed to pass away. She became even cheerful.