he could see the moving throng passing under the street lamps. Where he
stood it was not so light, and, unseen, he would be able to see Her as
she passed by. She would certainly pass by, for that way led home.

"What's her name?" he asked of the giggling girl, nodding at the dark-
eyed one.

"You ask her," was the convulsed response.

"Well, what is it?" he demanded, turning squarely on the girl in
question.

"You ain't told me yours, yet," she retorted.

"You never asked it," he smiled. "Besides, you guessed the first rattle.
It's Bill, all right, all right."

"Aw, go 'long with you." She looked him in the eyes, her own sharply
passionate and inviting. "What is it, honest?"

Again she looked. All the centuries of woman since sex began were
eloquent in her eyes. And he measured her in a careless way, and knew,
bold now, that she would begin to retreat, coyly and delicately, as he
pursued, ever ready to reverse the game should he turn fainthearted. And,
too, he was human, and could feel the draw of her, while his ego could
not but appreciate the flattery of her kindness. Oh, he knew it all, and
knew them well, from A to Z. Good, as goodness might be measured in
their particular class, hard-working for meagre wages and scorning the
sale of self for easier ways, nervously desirous for some small pinch of
happiness in the desert of existence, and facing a future that was a