"I'll go past it anyway, and see if the fellow is there yet with his grand sleigh."
He threw himself back with an air of importance, for he was certainly enjoying his little outing. The road was gay with vehicles, and the air musical with the ring of sleigh-bells. New York was enjoying its Christmas.
Almost before he realized it, he found himself on the obscure street, and in front of the shabby house where Geraldine lived, a pure pearl in an uncouth setting.
He reined up in front of the house and cogitated:
"The sleigh isn't here. Mr. Standish must have got his girl and gone. Maybe I ought to go, too. I don't see that I have any business going in!"
Smiling to himself at his humorous play on the verb to go, he waited a minute, glancing curiously at the front of the four-story house that looked dark and still as though most of the people had gone out or retired.
He pictured to himself the handsome fireman within that tenement, sitting by the side of his sweet young love, Geraldine, perhaps holding her dainty hand and looking love into eyes that answered love again.
"No, I mustn't go in. I might interrupt a charming tete-a-tete," he decided, and was about to turn back to the livery stable, when the door before him opened suddenly, and a man appeared, reeling down the steps like one under the influence of liquor or some heart-breaking emotion.
Robert stared at the handsome figure a moment, then called, questioningly:
"Mr. Hawthorne?"