there had been a half smile
of recognition on those rich red Hungarian lips, a wordless message
in the dark splendors of the gleaming eyes.

Could it be? They had lingered but a few moments together gazing
on the pictured glories of the distant Danube. Clayton felt that
some new influence had suddenly loosened all the pent-up longings
of his ardent nature. He was above all the vulgar pretenses of
the "boulevardier." He now realized in a single moment the hollow
loneliness of a life made up only of so many monthly pay days and
so many dull returns of the four unheeded seasons. For his life had
only been a heavy pathway of toil up an inclined plane of manifold
resistances.

He recalled, how on his one European voyage, the distant gleam
of a single silver sail far out on the blue rim of the pathless
ocean had suddenly broken in upon the eternal loneliness of that
watery waste.

And now, in all the peopled loneliness of all New York--hitherto
a human desert for him--the glance of these same alien eyes had
suddenly awakened him to yearnings for another life.

He was half way down the bustling Broadway to the bank before he
dared ask himself if the bright, shy glances of these unforgotten
eyes were meant for him.

"Perhaps," he muttered, and then his whole nature stifled the
unworthy suggestion. No! On that fair face only truth and honor
were mirrored. He was left alone absently checking up his deposit
list before he recalled all the proud and womanly bearing of the
beautiful unknown.

There was in her every motion the distinction of an isolation from
the contact of the meaner world! How hungrily he had watched her
onward path he only knew now.

And, with a secret pride, he recalled how daintily, like the swift
Camilla, she had sped onward through all those human billows heaving
to and fro, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot."

He pocketed all his deposit slips, then glanced mechanically at
the bank-book's entries, and wearily parried the badinage of the
bright-faced young bank-teller.

Clayton slowly wandered over toward Taylor's, and he was still lost
in his day-dream when he joined his chum, Arthur Ferris, finding
the modest feast already on the table.

"By Jove, old man! You're 'way behind time," began the nervous
lawyer. "I've got to hustle. I leave for Detroit on the evening
train."

"What's up, Arthur?" demanded the laggard.

"I've just had a wire from Worthington," seriously replied his
ro