Then suddenly he saw her. Across the street, standing in the shelter of a delivery truck in front of an apartment, she was observing Tony's building intently. The aristocratic chin, the brightness of the eyes, the waves of her hair, and the general sunny expression! It could not be anyone else. Post haste he ran across the street.
"Pardon me!" he cried excitedly, lifting his hat and then digging hastily into his inner pocket. "I'm sure you must be the—"
"Well, the nerve!" the young woman said icily, and pointing her chin at the opposite horizon she walked haughtily away.
By that time Phil had dug out his picture and was running after her.
"Please," he said, "just a moment!" And he held the picture out in front of her face.
"Now, where in the world—?" She looked at him in puzzled and indignant inquiry, and then burst out laughing.
"It is you, isn't it?" Phil asked. "What are you laughing at?"
"Oh, you looked so abject. I'm sure your intentions must be good. Now tell me where you got my picture."
"Let us walk this way," suggested Phil, leading away from Tony's building.