In a moment she was walking by his side down the smooth marble stairs and out through the grand entrance into Fifth Avenue. The strange part about it was, she was not in the least excited over a very unconventional situation. She had allowed a handsomely groomed, young, red-haired adventurer to pick her up without the formality of an introduction, in the Public Library. She hadn't the remotest idea of his name—nor had he of hers—yet there was something about him that seemed oddly familiar. They must have known one another somewhere in childhood and forgotten each other's faces.
The sun was shining in clear, steady brilliancy in a cloudless sky. The snow had quickly melted and it was unusually warm for early December. They turned into the throng of Fifth Avenue and at the corner of Forty-second Street he paused and hesitated and looked at her timidly:
“Say,” he began haltingly, “there's an awful crowd of bums on those seats in the Square behind the building—you know Central Park, don't you?”
Mary smiled.
“Quite well—I've spent many happy hours in its quiet walks.”
“You know that place the other side of the Mall—that ragged hill covered with rocks and trees and mountain laurel?”
“I've been there often.”
“Would you mind going there where it's quiet—I've such a lot o' things I want to ask you—you won't mind the walk, will you?”
“Certainly not—we'll go there,” Mary responded in even, business-like tones.
“Because, if you don't want to walk I'll call a cab, if you'll let me——”