moved over to the windows and threw them open. A gush of warm air,
humid and redolent of the streets, invaded the room, together with
the roar of traffic from its near-by arteries. Maitland rested his
elbows on the sill and leaned out, staring absently into the
night; for by now it was quite dark. Without concern, he realized
that he would be late at dinner. No matter; he would as willingly
miss it altogether. For the time being he was absorbed in vain
speculations about an unknown woman whose sole claim upon his
consideration lay in a certain but immaterial glamour of mystery.
Had she, or had she not, been in the house? And, if the true
answer were in the affirmative: to what end, upon what errand?

His eyes focused insensibly upon a void of darkness beneath him,--
night made visible by street lamps; and he found himself suddenly
and acutely sensible of the wonder and mystery of the City: the
City whose secret life ran fluent upon the hot, hard pavements
below, whose voice throbbed, sibilant, vague, strident,
inarticulate, upon the night air; the City of which he was a part
equally with the girl in grey, whom he had never before seen, and
in all likelihood was never to see again, though the two of them
were to work out their destinies within the bounds of Manhattan
Island. And yet....

"It would be strange," said Maitland thoughtfully, "if...." He
shook his head, smiling. "'_Two shall be born,_'" quoted Mad
Maitland sentimentally,--

"'_Two shall be born the whole wide world apart--_'"

A piano organ, having maliciously sneaked up beneath his window,