She seemed both afraid and angry, stopped abruptly and asked in Polish
what he wanted. He was startled. It was a hard moment. He explained
with difficulty that her language was as yet an inconvenient vehicle
for him.

"You are not Russian?" she said in French.

He shook his head. She seemed to be relieved and he wondered why.

"What do you want?" she asked, though not quite with the original
asperity.

"It did not occur to me you would notice," he said in the language she
had ventured. "I saw you yesterday. You made me think of New York. As
I was near to-day, I hoped to see you again---" "You are American?"
She spoke now in English, and with a still softer intonation.

"Yes,--you speak English, too?"

"I like it. It is---" she checked herself and asked with just a shade
of coldness, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

It might be construed as a courtesy to a stranger from one who lived
in Warsaw. Peter liked it, a certain vista opening. However, there was
no answer within reach except the truth, and he plunged:

"I should like to know you better."

The red lower lip disappeared beneath the other. Her gray eyes grew
very wide; something intrepid and exquisite in her manner as she