ieve his
loneliness, laid down his stirring mediaeval tale to go to bed, he did
not follow up the intention with immediate action, as usual.

By and by he raised the window-sash, and the cool, damp sea-air feeling
good, he leaned out to enjoy it. It was a cloudy night, with a touch of
coming snow in the air; but for all that a night to enjoy, only for the
racket ascending from the pool-room.

"I don't think much of those people down there," thought Jan as he
lowered the sash to all but six or eight inches for fresh air and picked
up the alarm clock from the rickety dresser. "I wonder if she's one of
that crowd?" And he began to wind the clock. "But sure she ain't--sure
not."

Jan had been holding the clock absently in his hand. Suddenly he set it
down and scolded himself--"Jan Tingloff, remember you has to be up at
six in the morning!"--and undressed, blew out the light and slid into
bed, and tried to go to sleep. And he did after a while; but his last
thought before he fell into slumber was: "Who'd ever think one day a
woman could grow so young-looking the next day?"

Many an evening after that Jan met the landlady on the stairs or in the
hall, and always she stopped to ask him how he was coming on with his
ship; but never any more than that or a brief word as to the weather and
his comfort, though there were times when Jan felt he would like to
become better acquainted--times when he even had a feeling that if he
had asked her to sit down somewhere for a talk she would be willing. Jan
had learned, however, that she was married. It had been a shock to learn
that. It had come about by his noticing after three or four days the
plain gold ring on the wedding finger. He had kept staring at it until
she could not help remarking it; and by and by, in a casual sort of way,
she had told him she was married.

"And is your husband living, ma'am?" asked Jan.

"He's living--yes," she answered slowly.

That made a difference. Even though a man didn't know anybody in the
city except the men he worked with and it was terribly lonesome of
evenings--even so, her being married made all the difference. And she
must have been a wonderfully pretty girl once--and was pretty yet, now
he had a chance to look good at her. Pretty--yes; but--well, Jan didn't
know what it was, except that she was all right. Jan knew he didn't know
much about women, especially strange women--and he knew, too, that he
never would; but he would never believe