of the cab and see him laughing, I suppose? Ah, you should have
looked...."

And so on. This was the attitude of that cold, calculating,
dispassionate Mary-outside-the-glass. But Mary smothered the voice--
would not hear a word of it. Completely she became Mary-in-the-glass,
that sentimental young woman, and in that personality tripped along
the path of thought where stood her stranger.

Delectably she relived the encounter. Paced down the street, took
again his arm; without a fault recalled his words, without a check
gave her replies; recalled the pitch of his voice to the nicest note,
struck again the light in his eyes.

Now why? She had met other men; in Ireland had thrice wounded her
tender heart by negations that had caused three suitors most desperate
anguish. None had awakened in her a deeper interest; and yet here was
a stranger--suddenly encountered, as suddenly left--who in her mind
had appropriated a track which she was eager to make a well-beaten
path. Why?

But Mary-in-the-glass, that sentimental young woman, was no prober of
emotions. They veiled the hard business of commonplace life; and amid
them mistily she now floated afar into dim features where her
stranger, stranger no more, walked with her hand in hand.

There was attempt at first to construct an actual re-encounter. Mary-
in-the-glass, that romantic young woman, very speciously pointed out
that in London when once you see a man you may reasonably suppose that
you will again meet him. For in London one does not aimlessly wander;