She drew her veil down over her face, and the passers-by did not see the tears that rolled like rain down her white, despairing face. It mattered little to her which way she went.
Suddenly she heard the sound of a voice just ahead of her—a voice that sent a thrill to her heart.
"Heaven pity me!" she gasped; "it is Royal Ainsley!"
He was bidding good-bye to a companion on the corner.
The next moment he had boarded a street car. With a smothered cry, Ida May sprung after him. She must see him, she must speak to him!
The car was crowded. He was in the front of the car and she was at the rear. There was no way of speaking to him. She must ride in the car as far as he did, and when he alighted she must follow him. As she watched him with strained eyes, she saw him greet a young and lovely girl.
The sight made the blood turn cold in her veins: Light, airy, gay as of yore he was, all unconscious of the misery he had brought to a human heart. He had wrecked her life. How could he stand there smiling into the face of another girl?
Ida's heart swelled with bitter anguish.
She saw the young girl alight from the car at the corner of a fashionable street, and Royal Ainsley accompanied her. He took her arm and bent lovingly over her. She was some rich man's daughter. Ida May, who followed in their footsteps, was sure of that.
They entered a handsome brown-stone house midway up the street. The veiled, dark-robed little figure passed on, and stood at the end of the street until he should reappear. Scores of pedestrians passed as the hours rolled on.