houlder; to any
lateral observer there could have been no mistake regarding the
face in front of it. She passed through a group of firemen sitting
in their shirtsleeves in front of the engine-house, disappeared
around the corner, and went to a confectioner's. Presently she
reentered the street, and this time walked along the side where the
law offices were grouped. She disappeared around the corner and
entered a dry-goods store. A few moments later she reentered the
street for the third and last time. Just as she passed a certain
law office, she dropped her packages. No one came out to pick them
up. Marguerite did this herself--very slowly. Still no one
appeared. She gave three sharp little raps on the woodwork of the
door.

From the rear office a red head was thrust suddenly out like a
surprised woodpecker's. Barbee hurried to the entrance and looked
up the street. He saw a good many people. He looked down the
street and noticed a parasol moving away.

"I supposed you were in the courthouse," she said, glancing at him
with surprise. "Haven't you any cases?"

"One," he answered, "a case of life and death."

"You need not walk against me, Barbee; I am not a vine to need
propping. And you need not walk with me. I am quite used to
walking alone: my nurse taught me years ago."

"But now you have to learn _not_ to walk alone, Marguerite."

"It will be very difficult."

"It will be easy when the right man steps forward: am I the right
man?"

"I am going to the library. Good morning."

"So am I going to the library."

"Aren't all your authorities in your office?"

"All except one."

They turned into the quiet shady street: they were not the first to
do this.

When they reached the steps, Marguerite sank down.

"Why do I get so tired when I walk with you, Barbee? You exhaust
me _very_ rapidly."

He sat down not very near her, but soon edged a little closer.

Marguerite leaned over and looked intently at his big, thin ear.

"What a lovely red your ear is, seen against a clear sky. It would
make a beautiful lamp-shade."

"You may have both of them--and all the fixtures--solid brass--an
antique some day."

He edged a little closer.

Marguerite coughed and pointed across the street: "Aren't those
trees beautiful?"

"Oh, don't talk to me about trees! What do I care about _wood_!
You're the tree that I want to dig up, and take home, and plant,
and live under, and be buried by."

"Th