Old men came now, and old women; fleshy women, and women with small children and babies. Couples came, too—dawdling couples, plainly newly married: the men were not two steps ahead, and the women's gloves were buttoned and their furs in place.
Gradually the line thinned, and soon there were left only an old man with a cane, and a young woman with three children. Yet nowhere had Billy seen a girl wearing a white carnation, and walking alone.
With a deeper frown on her face Billy turned and looked about her. She thought that somewhere in the crowd she had missed Mary Jane, and that she would find her now, standing near. But there was no one standing near except the good-looking young fellow with the little pointed brown beard, who, as Billy noticed a second time, was wearing a white carnation.
As she glanced toward him, their eyes met. Then, to Billy's unbounded amazement, the man advanced with uplifted hat.
“I beg your pardon, but is not this—Miss Neilson?”
Billy drew back with just a touch of hauteur.
“Y-yes,” she murmured.
“I thought so—yet I was expecting to see you with Aunt Hannah. I am M. J. Arkwright, Miss Neilson.”
For a brief instant Billy stared dazedly.
“You don't mean—Mary Jane?” she gasped.