she'll not know. So--all right! Go ahead, driver." And happy with some
new happiness, eager, bright, the handsome young fellow sat watching
that other stage, and the stylish little lace bonnet that was all he
could see of his magnet, through the interminable journey down Broadway.

How clear the air seemed! and the sun, how splendidly it shone! and
what a glad look was upon all the people's faces! He felt like breaking
out into gay little snatches of song, and moved his foot to the waltz
measure that beat time in his brain till the irate old gentleman
opposite, whom nature had made of a sour complexion and art assisted to
corns, broke out with an angry exclamation. That drew his attention for
a moment. A slackening of speed, a halt, and the stage was wedged in one
of the inextricable "jams" on Broadway. Vain the search for _her_ stage
then; looking over the backs of the poor, tired horses, or from the
sidewalk,--here, there, at this one and that one,--all for naught! Stage
and passenger, eyes, little lace bonnet, and all, had vanished away, as
William Surrey confessed, and confessed with reluctance and discontent.

"No matter!" he said presently,--"no matter! I shall see her again. I
know it! I feel it! It is written in the book of the Fates! So now I
shall content me with something"--that looks like her he did not say
definitely, but felt it none the less, as, going over to the
flower-basket near by, he picked out a little nosegay of mignonette and
geranium, with a tea-rosebud in its centre, and pinned it at his
button-hole. "Delicate and fine!" he thought,--"delicate and fine!" and
with the repetition he looked from it down the long street after the
interminable line of stages; and somehow the faint, sweet perfume, and
the fair flower, and the dainty lace bonnet, were mingled in wild and
charming confusion in his brain, till he shook himself, and laughed at
himself, and quoted Shakespeare to excuse himself,--"A mad world, my