one but a silly ass would attempt to find a person in a great city
after the fashion he was pursuing. He was deciding to board a
tramcar and return to the hotel when, at some distance ahead, he saw
a young lady run hurriedly down the steps of an impressive looking
house.

He recognized Dorothy Garrison, and with a thump of exultation his
heart urged him across the street toward her. She evidently had not
seen him; her eyes were on the ground and she seemed preoccupied. In
her hand she held a letter. A gasp of astonishment, almost of alarm,
came from her lips, her eyes opened wide in that sort of surprise
which reveals something like terror, and then she crumpled the
letter in her hand spasmodically.

"I thought you lived down here somewhere," he exclaimed, joyfully,
seizing her hand. "'I knew I could find you."

"I--I am so glad to see you," she stammered, with a brave effort to
recover from the shock his appearance had created. "What are you
doing here, Phil?"

"Looking for you, Dorothy. Shall I post your letter?"

She was still standing as if rooted to the spot, the letter in a sad
plight.

"Oh, I'll not--not post it now. I should have sent the footman. Come
with me and see mamma. I know she will be glad to have you here,"
she hurried, in evident confusion. She bethought herself suddenly
and made an effort to withdraw the letter from its rather