k from making her the subject of any general inquiry
or discussion. To him she was something to be kept sacred. His heart
was a shrine with her as its image, and before that image he burned
imaginary tapers with the fervor of a devotee.

One thought came to him with a suddenness that made him quake. Could
it be that she was already married?

He tried to remember whether "Mrs." or "Miss" had preceded the name on
the letter. For the life of him he could not recall. He had so
utterly assumed that she was unmarried, on the occasion of their
meeting, that any thought to the contrary had not even occurred to him
then. He was somewhat comforted by the probability that, had she been
married, her husband's name or initials would have followed the "Mrs."
instead of her given name. Yet, this was a custom that was becoming as
much honored in the breach as in the observance, and the use of her own
given name would not be at all conclusive.

Then, with a great wave of relief, the memory came to him that he had
placed the letters in her left hand and had noted that she had no rings
on that hand at all. The thought had come to him at the time that no
ornament could make those tapered fingers prettier than they were.

His heart leaped with elation. She was unmarried then! She wore no
wedding ring!

There was still greater cause for jubilation. She wore no ring of any
kind! She was not even engaged!

She probably was somewhere in this teeming city. Many times their
paths might almost cross, perhaps had already almost crossed since that
first meeting on the pier.

Fantastic musings took possession of him. Who was it that, in a burst
of hyperbole, said that if one took up his station at Broadway and
Thirty-fourth Street, he would, if he stayed there long enough, see
everybody in the world go past? Or was it Kipling who said that of
Port Said?

Where should he take his stand? What places should he frequent with
the greatest likelihood of meeting her? Theatres, the opera, art
galleries, railway stations, Central Park?

He recalled himself from these fantasies with a wrench. How foolish
and fruitless they were! He was no man of leisure, to do as he
pleased. He was bound as securely to his desk as the genie was to the
lamp of Aladdin, and he must answer its call just as unfailingly.

So, alternately wretched and elated, tasting the torments as well as
the joys of this experience that had revolutionized his life,