"What is that?"

"That you will pray for me!"

"Now you are asking for luxuries," she smiled; "you don't believe in
prayer. But I will." Then, nodding confidently, she added, "And it will
do you good."

And then, as he still lingered, with quiet business-like demeanor she
crossed the street and disappeared.

It was true that in thus seeking her intercession Max had asked for a
luxury. He did not believe in prayer any more than he had ever done; but
he did very much like the idea of being prayed for by the woman he
loved. Once, for a brief moment, he had seen her kneel before an altar
empty to him of meaning; and as he then watched the serene joy and
beauty of her face had realized with a jealous envy how in an instant
all thought of him had passed from her mind. So in asking her to pray
for him he had merely sought to penetrate by subtlety the unbelievable
world of her dreams. And then, even as he reveled in the vision, the odd
thought occurred in what terms would he obtain introduction? Once, when
for the repayment of a borrowed cab fare she had asked his name and
address, he had told her who he was, and she had not believed him; had,
indeed, herself tantalized him in return with an address as little
probable as his own. If, therefore, she prayed for him in words how
would they run, or, if in thought, what character would it assume? "That
man," "that nice man," "that talkative man," "that person who called
himself Prince Max," "the tall stranger," "the man whom I sent away,"
"the man who emptied my bucket," "the man who brought in the bed," "the
man who waited for me at corners," "the man who wanted to be my
follower." All these variant products of a brief acquaintance, though he
dwelt on them as luxuries, failed to give him satisfaction, they formed
a fretful and at times a tormenting accompaniment to his unapportioned
days. At his hours of rising and setting the thought would insistently
recur to him: "Now, perhaps even now, she is praying for me." And
straightway he would return to the task of trying to realize the nature
of her prayer and with what label she pigeoned him in the columbarium of
her soul.

Whether or no it could be said that this was "doing him good," he had
certainly begun to apprehend the power of prayer; that dove-like spirit
with overshadowing wing had found means to ruffle very considerably the
even current of his existence. Even had he wished to he could not get
her out of his thoughts. F