Instead of being amused, Percival was profoundly annoyed. The incident
on the train had been pretty enough in its way, but it was closed. As it
stood, it had been rather artistic and satisfying. A wild, unknown bit
of femininity dashing into his life for ten throbbing minutes, then
vanishing into the sunset, was one thing, and this very tangible young
person in clothes of the wrong cut and color, addressing him in terms of
easy familiarity, was quite another.

"I beg your pardon," he said stiffly. "Did you address me?"

Her eyes clouded.

"Why, I thought--I thought you were some one I knew. Is this your chair?"

"It is. Pray do not discommode yourself?"

"That is all right," she answered, trying to disentangle her high heels
from his rug. "I've had my nap, thank you. Think I'll go down and get a
sandwich."

Percival waited in frigid silence until she had departed; then he sank
limply into the warm nest she had just left, and closed his eyes on a
world that failed in all respects to give satisfaction.




II