“I don’t know,” he said, half provoked, but he urged no further.
And these two young people, whose barks had floated side by side on the stream of life for a brief time, were drifting apart. Mentally they were taking farewell, for they knew that, if even for a few days, they remained yet in sight or call, still their course lay so widely apart that they might never hope to float near each other again.
So they silently left the place where they had spent their last evening together and went out on the street into the cool quiet night.
A few gas jets dimly lighted up Twenty-third Street, and the stores that lined the opposite side frowned dark and gloomy upon the few people who occasionally made their appearance as they walked from the darkness into the light of the street lamps, and then disappeared again into the shadows beyond.
Coming towards the young couple from Sixth Avenue was a man, thoughtfully walking along, as if, unable to sleep, he had sought the quiet streets to think.
Richard noticed him, and pressing Dido’s arm, he whispered:
“Look at this man.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, excitedly.
The men exchanged glances, and the stranger raised his hat stiffly in response to Richard’s cordial greeting. After they had passed, Richard said:
“Why do you tremble so? I merely wanted to call your attention to him. That is Mr. Clarke, the gentleman I had the experience with in the Hoffman House bar.”