stood looking absently off through an aisle of Alpine firs that, parklike,
bordered the track. It was a long time since the sight of a pretty woman
had so quickened his blood. He had believed that for him this sort of
thing was over, and he laughed at himself a little.

The westbound rumbled to a stop on the parallel track, he felt the trucks
under him start, and an unaccountable depression came over him; the next
moment he heard a soft voice directing the porter behind him, and as
unaccountably his heart rose. The girl came on through the open door and
stopped beside him, bracing herself with one hand on the railing, while
she waved her handkerchief to the group she had left. He caught a faint,
clean perfume suggesting violets, the wind lifted the end of her veil
across his shoulder, and something of her exhilaration was transmitted to
the currents in his veins. "Good-by, Elizabeth," she called. "Good-by.
Good-by."

Some trainmen were getting the injured man aboard the westbound passenger,
and the lady who had left the wrecked automobile to go with him sent back
a sonorous "Au revoir." But Elizabeth, who was hurrying down from the
station where she had accomplished her errand, turned in astonishment to
look after the speeding eastbound. Then a rocky knob closed all this from
sight.

The girl on the platform turned, and Tisdale moved a little to let her
pass. At the same time the lurching of the car, as it swung to the curve,
threw her against him. It all happened very quickly; he steadied her with
his arm, and she drew back in confusion; he raised his hand to his head
and, remembering he had left his hat in his seat, a flush shaded through
his tan. Then, "I beg your pardon," she said and hurried by him through
the door.