Every pulse thrilled anew when, as she signaled the conductor to stop, she observed the young man preceding her, as if he also was about to alight. Mollie followed closely, hoping that she might be fortunate enough to get a view of his face.
He stepped off the car, and paused to wait for it to pass on, before crossing the street, as was evidently his intention.
Mollie, with her thoughts full of the past, in which he had figured so conspicuously, was a little heedless as she alighted, her foot turning awkwardly, and she would have fallen if her "hero" had not sprung to her side, and, with a courteous, "allow me," grasped her arm and saved her from what might have been a painful accident.
"Thank you very much," she said with a brilliant smile and blush, as she recovered herself, and lifted her gleaming eyes to the handsome face which she had so longed to see.
The young man started at the sound of her voice, and then bent an earnest look upon her, an expression of perplexity sweeping over his features. Then, almost instantly, his countenance cleared, a glad, eager light leaped into his eyes, which Mollie saw were unchanged, and there was a repressed thrill of triumph in his tones as he earnestly observed:
"I hope you are not hurt."
"Not in the least, I assure you, and I owe it to your timely aid," Mollie returned, an answering ring of joy in her own voice, as she saw that he remembered her, in spite of the changes time had made in her.
But, even though she realized that he was lingering with the hope that she would make the first advances and reference to their former meeting, as certainly belonged to her to do, a sudden and unaccountable shyness seized her. She stooped to brush some dust that had adhered to her skirt, then, with another smile and bow, she entered Monsieur Lamonti's office. A moment later she bitterly repented having allowed the precious opportunity to pass unimproved.
"Why," she mentally exclaimed, with a sense of scorn for herself. "I acted just like a bashful schoolgirl, and ought to be ashamed of myself. It was my place, when I saw that he knew me, to recognize him. How unappreciative and indifferent he must think me—how ill-mannered, when I told him that day that I should never forget him. I am more sorry than I can express, for perhaps he is in Washington only for a few days, and I may never meet him again. How utterly stupid of me!"
But in spite of these keen regrets, the girl's heart was unusually light all day, for the "hero" of her girlhood had more than fulfilled her anticipations; she had realized, during those few months, when they had stood face to face, that he was strong and true and manly in the highest acceptation of the terms; she believed that he was destined to distinguish himself in the future, but what made her especially happy was the fact that he had not forgotten her—that he had been glad to meet her again, as both his look and tone had testified.