The male figure, however, after mingling with his fellow-worshippers
to the corner of the block, stopped a moment under the lamp-post as if
uncertain as to the turning, but really to cast a long, scrutinizing
look towards the scattered umbrellas now almost lost in the opposite
direction. He was still gazing and apparently hesitating whether to
retrace his steps, when a horse and buggy rapidly driven down the side
street passed him. In a brief glance he evidently recognized the driver,
and stepping over the curbstone called in a brief authoritative voice:

"Ned!"

The occupant of the vehicle pulled up suddenly, leaned from the buggy,
and said in an astonished tone:

"Dick Demorest! Well! I declare! hold on, and I'll drive up to the
curb."

"No; stay where you are."

The speaker approached the buggy, jumped in beside the occupant,
refastened the apron, and coolly taking the reins from his companion's
hand, started the horse forward. The action was that of an habitually
imperious man; and the only recognition he made of the other's ownership
was the question:

"Where were you going?"

"Home--to see Joan," replied the other. "Just drove over from Warensboro
Station. But what on earth are YOU doing here?"