Now, the unusual part of the incident lay in the incongruity of the street and the girl. For the street and the house out of which she emerged so hastily were mean and ignoble; but the girl herself fairly radiated upper Fifth Avenue from the perfectly appointed and expensive simplicity[203] of hat and gown to the obviously aristocratic and dainty face and figure.
"Is she a symptom?" thought Green to himself. "Is she an element? That is sure a rotten looking joint she came out of."
Moved by a sudden and unusual impulse of intelligence, he ran up the brownstone stoop and read the dirty white card pasted on the façade above the door bell.
THE PRINCESS ZIMBAMZIM
TRANCE MEDIUM. FORTUNES.
Taken aback, he looked after the pretty girl who was now hurrying up the street as though the devil were at her dainty heels.
Could she be the Princess Zimbamzim? Common sense rejected the idea, as did the sudden jerk of soiled lace curtains at the parlour window, and the apparition of a fat lady in a dingy, pink tea-gown. That must be the Princess Zimbamzim and the pretty girl had ventured into these purlieus to consult her. Why?
"This is certainly a symptom of romance!" thought the young man excitedly. And he started after the pretty girl at a Fifth Avenue amble.
He overtook and passed her at Sixth Avenue, and managed to glance at her without being offensive.[204] To his consternation, she was touching her tear-stained eyes with her handkerchief. She did not notice him.
What could be the matter? With what mystery was he already in touch?
Tremendously interested he fell back a few paces and lighted a cigarette, allowing her to pass him; then he followed her. Never before in his life had he done such a scandalous thing.