to take the other chair at the little table where she stopped, but Lorison slipped into the seat before him. Their acquaintance began, and grew, and now for two months they had sat at the same table each evening, not meeting by appointment, but as if by a series of fortuitous and happy accidents. After dining, they would take a walk together in one of the little city parks, or among the panoramic markets where exhibits a continuous vaudeville of sights and sounds. Always at eight o’clock their steps led them to a certain street corner, where she prettily but firmly bade him good-night and left him. “I do not live far from here,” she frequently said, “and you must leave me go the rest of the way alone.”
But now Lorison had discovered that he wanted to go the rest of the way, or happiness would depart, leaving him on a very lonely corner of life. And, at the same time
