yes did not rest upon
Lilienfeld for the fraction of a second.

Everybody crowded about Ingigerd, overwhelming the girl, the impresario
and his wife with congratulations. In her joyous excitement Ingigerd's
small face beamed sweetly. She looked very lovely. It was something to
her heart's desire, this struggle to possess her carried on, as it were,
before the eyes of two continents. Indeed, the extreme importance to
which her person had attained almost humbled her a bit; but her pride and
pleasure every now and then showed in her glances, even in the glances
she sent Frederick. The men fairly courted her and did homage to her. Had
a princess of the royal blood come along at that moment, their attention
could not have been diverted for an instant from the little dancer, whom
the delight, even gratitude shining in her face made very attractive.

Lilienfeld immediately invited all the reporters to luncheon. Mr.
Samuelson declined the invitation, pleading an urgent appointment in the
Court House. This may have been a pretext, for Frederick noticed, not
without peculiar sympathy, that he was suffering under the consciousness
of his failure. The poor man, so famous and influential, but now totally
disregarded, was extremely grateful when Frederick, descending the City
Hall stairs beside him, said a few words of appreciation of Samuelson's
presentation of the case, though he actually felt no appreciation.

To excuse himself from taking part in the luncheon, Frederick said he had
several business engagements. Nevertheless he had to promise Ingigerd
that he would return in time for the demi-tasse.

XX

Frederick crossed the park to the main Post Office, a huge building, in
which twenty-five hundred clerks and officials worked. Here he despatched
a telegram, and then turned back into the noise of the streets, where the
people, bending their heads before a cutting wind, ran about in hurrying
swarms. The unceasing traffic, the cars and cabs and trucks, produced a
deafening din. Frederick drew out his watch. It was half-past twelve, the
exact time at which Miss Burns was wont to take her modest lunch in the
little restaurant near the Grand Central Station. Frederick hailed a cab
and drove to the restaurant. If on this occasion Miss Burns had failed to
be lunching there, he would have been sadly disappointed. But there she
was, happy as usual to see the young German scholar.

"Miss Burns," he cried, seating himself besid