She shook her head. "It would be sad if you could," she said. "Give me
anything but information. As for statistics, I've a constitutional
distaste for them. Where can we find a cab?"

"We won't find a cab," he explained, with an authoritative
independence which somehow appealed to her. "We'll take this trolley-
car and ride to within a short walk of Delmonico's. After luncheon
we'll find cabs at every turn."

He helped her into a car as he spoke, and paid their fare from her
purse, flushing as he had to change a five-dollar note to do so. The
simple act emphasized for him, as no words could have done, his
peculiar relation to this strange woman, whom he had never seen until
half an hour ago. Balancing the purse in his hand, he glanced at her,
taking in almost unconsciously the tragic droop of her lips, the
prematurely gray locks in her dark hair, and the unchanging gloom of
her brown eyes.

"How do you know I won't drop off the car at some corner and abscond
with this?" he asked, in a low voice.

She looked at him calmly.

"I think I know you will not. But if you did it would hurt me."

"Would it spoil your day?"

"Yes," she conceded, "it would spoil my day."