a friendly hand or hear the sound of a human voice in
greeting.

And yet this endless procession held for her a
supreme fascination. Somewhere among its myriads of
tramping feet, walked the one man created for her. She
no more doubted this than she doubted God Himself. It
was His law. He had ordained it so. She had grown so
used to the throngs below her window and so loved the
little park with its splashing fountain that she had
refused to follow her landlady uptown when the
brownstone boarding-house facing the Square had been
turned into a studio building.

Instead of moving she had wheedled the landlord
into allowing her to cut off a small space from her
room for a private bath and kitchenette, built a box
couch across the window large enough for a three-
quarter mattress and covered it with velour. For five
dollars a week she had thus secured a little home in
which was combined a sitting-room, bed-room, bath and
kitchenette.

It had its drawbacks, of course. The Professor
downstairs who taught music sometimes gave a special
lesson at night, and the Italian sculptor who worked on
the top floor used a hammer at the most impossible
hours. But on the whole she liked it better than the
tiresome routine of boarding. She was not afraid at
night. The stamp-and-coin man who occupied the first