"May I come to see you to-night?" he asked, trying not to stammer, and hoping his ears were not as red as they felt. "There's a nice band concert in Prospect Park and I thought——"
Martha Ritter cocked her head to one side and smiled mysteriously.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Epps," she said coolly, "but I have an engagement."
"You—have—an—engagement?" He repeated the words as if they were a prison sentence.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Oh, it's a masquerade." She smiled, her head on one side.
"Whom are you going with?" he blurted; he was trembling.
"That would be telling," she laughed. "Well, good night, Mr. Epps. I must hurry home and get my costume on. I'm going as a gypsy."
And she disappeared into the maw of the Subway.