faces of the diners around them looked tired and old. When they left
the dining-room they stood together for an instant in the vestibule
opening into the street. No one was near them, and they were for the
moment beyond the reach of curious eyes. She cast one quick look
around to be sure of this, and then, going close to him, she put both
her hands on his shoulders. As she stood thus he realized for the
first time how tall she was. Her eyes were almost on a level with his
own.

"You're a dear boy," she said, quickly, and a little breathlessly.
"You have made the day perfect, and I thank you. We shall not meet
again, but I'd like to feel that you won't forget me, and I want you
to tell me your first name."

He put his hands over hers.

"It's Philip," he said, simply, "and as for forgetting, you may be
very sure I won't. This isn't the kind of thing one forgets, and
you're not the kind of woman."

As he spoke the grip of her hands on his shoulders tightened, and she
leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Under the suddenness and
the surprise of it his senses whirled, but even in the chaos of the
moment he was conscious of two conflicting impressions--the first, an
odd disappointment in her, his friend; the second, an absurd
resentment against the singular remoteness of those cool, soft lips
that for an instant brushed his own. She gave him no chance to speak.

"I've left my gloves on the table," she said, crisply. "Get them."