“See who?” asked Mazie.
“The Gypsy girl.”
“Who is she?”
“Why, don’t you know? But of course you wouldn’t. She—she’s the one who saved my life and I—I carried her off the Ferris wheel. She would have burned. The car burned before we touched the ground.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mazie. “Then you were the one who performed that marvelous feat on the wheel? I might have known. No one else could have done that.”
“You—saw us?”
“Yes. But tell me about that other time, the time the girl saved your life.”
Pant told her the story.
“Do you think I’ll ever see her again?” he asked eagerly as he finished.
“You can’t tell,” said Mazie slowly, “you never know. It’s a strange world we live in. There are a hundred million of people and more, in our land. How many do you know? A few. There are eight miles of homes between our house and the heart of the city. Walk the whole distance, eight miles, twelve blocks to the mile, twenty homes to the block, probably two thousand homes. Ten thousand people live in those homes. How many of them do you know? None, perhaps. We live in little worlds of our own. Our little worlds are like ships at sea. We meet and pass others, like ships that pass in the night. You deserted your little world for a night and entered the Gypsy girl’s world. She left hers for a night and entered yours. Now she’s gone back to hers and you to yours. Will you meet again? Why should you?”