ibly to be kissed, and she was bound to do it. He had a
fight once, over by that gnarled, old, silver poplar-tree, with Kemp
Ferrall--he could not remember what about, only that they ended by
unanimously assaulting their nurses and were dragged howling homeward.

He turned, looking across to where the gray towers of the University
once stood. There had been an old stone church there, too; and, south
of that, old, old houses with hip-roofs and dormers where now the high
white cliffs of modern architecture rose, riddled with tiny windows,
every vane glittering in the sun. South, the old houses still remained,
now degraded to sordid uses. North, the square, red-brick mansions,
with their white pillars and steps, still faced the sunset--the last
practically unbroken rank of the old regime, the last of the old guard,
standing fast and still confronting, still resisting the Inevitable
looming in limestone and granite, story piled on story, aloft in the
kindling, southern sky.

A cab, driven smartly, passed through the park, the horses' feet
slapping the asphalt till the echoes rattled back from the marble arch.
He followed it idly with his eyes up Fifth Avenue; saw it suddenly halt
in the middle of the street; saw a woman spring out, stand for a moment
talking to her companion, then turn and look toward the square.

She stood so long, and she was so far away, that he presently grew
tired of watching her. A dozen ragged urchins were prowling around the
fountain, casting sidelong glances at a distant policeman. But it was
not hot enough that evening to permit the children to splash in the
water, and the policeman drove them off.

"Poor little devils!" said Siward to himself; and he rose, adjusted his
crutches, and started through the park with a vague idea of seeing what
could be done.

As he limped onward, the sun level in his eyes, he heard somebody speak
behind him, but did not catch the words or apply the hail to himself.
Then, "Mr. Siward!" came the low, breathless voice at his elbow.

His heart stopped as he did. The sun had dazzled his eyes, and when he
turned on his crutches he could not see clearly for a second. That
past, he looked at Sylvia, looked at her outstretched hand, took it
mechanically, still staring at her with only a dazed unbelief in his
eyes.

"I am in town for a day," she said. "Leila Mortimer and I were driving
up town from the bank when we saw you; and the next thing that happened
was me, on F