"He says for you not to wait, gentlemen. There's nothing more to
do this afternoon, and he may be detained quite a time."

The violet boutonniere and the white carnation went somewhat
reluctantly up the aisle together, and, after a last glance back
at the stage from the doorway, found themselves in the colder
air of the lobby, a little wilted.

Bidding Tinker farewell, on the steps of the theatre, Canby
walked briskly out to the Park, and there, abating his energy,
paced the loneliest paths he could find until long after dark.
They were not lonely for him; a radiant presence went with him
through the twilight. She was all about him: in the blue
brightness of the afterglow, in the haze of the meadow
stretches, and in the elusive woodland scents that vanished as
he caught them;--she was in the rosy vapour wreaths on the high
horizon, in the laughter of children playing somewhere in the
darkness, in the twinkling of the lights that began to show--for
now she was wherever a lover finds his lady, and that is
everywhere. He went over and over their talk of the morning,
rehearsing wonderful things he would say to her upon the
morrow, and taking the liberty of suggesting replies from her
even more wonderful. It was a rhapsody; he was as happy as Tom
o'Bedlam.

By and by, he went to a restaurant in the Park and ordered food
to be brought him. Then, after looking at it with an expression
of fixed animation for half an hour, he paid for it and went
home. He let himself into the boarding-house quietly, having
hazy impressions that he was not popular there, also that it