As we were leaving the foyer, Phyllis said: "Jack, a man has been staring me out of countenance."
"Pembroke?" I laughed.
"No. And moreover, the stare was accompanied by the most irritating sneer."
"Point him out to me when we reach the street," I said, humoring what I thought to be a fancy, "and I'll put a head on him."
The sneer was probably meant for an ogle. Beauty has its annoyances as well as its compensations. As we came under the glare of the outside lights, Phyllis's hand tightened on my arm.
"Look! there he is, and he is making for us."
At the sight of that face with its hooked nose, its waxed mustache and imperial, I took a deep breath and held it. In the quick glance I saw that his right arm hung stiffly at his side. I attempted to slip into the crowd, but without success. He lifted his hat, smiling into the astonished face of Phyllis.
"The Princess Hildegarde—" But with those three words the sentence on his lips came to an end. Amazement replaced the smile. He stepped back. Phyllis's eyes expressed scornful surprise. What she understood to be rudeness I knew to be a mistake. He had mistaken her to be Gretchen, just as I had mistaken Gretchen to be Phyllis. It was a situation which I enjoyed. All this was but momentary. We passed on.
"Was the man crazy?" asked Phyllis, as we moved toward the carriages, where we saw Pembroke waving his hand.
"Not exactly crazy," I answered.