hange brought him home at eleven o'clock. Bangs was in his own
room, finding in sleep a wall of unconsciouness that separated him from
his troubles. Laurie decided upon the novel pleasure of a long night of
slumber for himself.

He fell asleep with surprising ease, and immediately, as it seemed, he
saw the girl in the mirror. She was walking toward him, through what
appeared to be a heavy fog. Her hands were outstretched to him, and he
hurried to meet her; but even as he did so the fog closed down and he
lost her, though he seemed to hear her voice, calling him from somewhere
far away.

He awoke late in the morning with every detail of the dream vivid in his
mind, so vivid, indeed, that when he approached the mirror after his
morning plunge, it seemed almost a continuation of the dream to find the
girl there.

He stopped short with a chuckle. The curtains of his French window were
drawn apart, and in the mirror he saw the reflection of the girl as she
stood in profile near her own uncurtained window and slowly dressed her
hair.

It was wonderful hair, much more wonderful down than up. Laurie, who had
a sophisticated notion that most of the hair on the heads of girls he
knew had been purchased as removable curls and "transformations," stared
with pleasure at the red-gold mass that fell down over the girl's white
garment. Then, with a little shock, he realized that the white garment
was a nightdress. It was evident that, high in her lonely room, the girl
thought herself safe from observation and was quietly making her toilet
for the morning.

Well, she should be safe. With a quick jerk, Laurie drew together the
heavy curtains that hung at the sides of the long window. Then, smiling
a little, he slowly dressed. His thoughts dwelt on the girl. It was odd
that she should be literally projected into his life in that unusual
fashion. He had never had any such experience before, nor had he heard
of one just like it. It was unique and pleasant. It was especially
pleasant to have her so young and so charming to look at. She might have
been a disheveled art student, given to weird color effects, or an
austere schoolma'am, or some plump and matter-of-fact person who set
milk bottles on the sill and spread wet handkerchiefs to dry on the
window-panes. As it was, all that disturbed him was her expression. He
wished he knew her name and something more about her. His thoughts were
full of her.

Before he left the room he parted