t will seem long till
then."

They shook hands once more. She had taken off her glove now, and her
palm left on his a reminiscence of Peau d'Espagne. He did not know what
the scent was, but it smelled rich and artificial, and he disliked to
associate it with his new friend. "But probably it's her mother's, and
she didn't choose it herself," he thought. "Well--I have a new interest
in life now. I expect this is the best thing that's happened to me for a
long time."

As he walked back to his hotel, his head was full of plans for the
girl's transient pleasure and lasting benefit. "Poor lonely child," he
thought. "And what a mother! She ought not to be left with a person like
that. She ought to marry. It would be a good deed to take her away from
such an influence. So young, and so ingenuous as she is still, in spite
of the surroundings she must have known, she is capable of becoming a
noble woman. Perhaps, if she turns out to be really as sweet and gentle
as she seems--"

The sentence broke off unfinished, in his mind, and ended with a great
sigh.

There could be only second best, and third best things in life for him
now, since love was over, and it would be impossible for him to care for
an angel from heaven, who had not the face and the dear ways of the girl
he had lost. But second best things might be better than no good things
at all, if only one made up one's mind to accept them thankfully. And it
was a shame to waste so much money on himself, when there were
soft-eyed, innocent girls in the world who ought to be sheltered and
protected from harm.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN THE CURTAIN WAS DOWN

The soft-eyed, innocent girl who had inspired the thought went into the
hotel, and was rather cross to the youthful concierge, because the
_ascenseur_ was not working. There were three flights of stairs to mount
before she reached her room, and she was so anxious to open her bag to
see what was inside, that she ran up very fast, so fast that she stepped
on her dress and ripped out a long line of gathers. Her eyes were not
nearly as soft as they had been, while she picked up the hanging folds
of pink cloth, and went on.

The narrow corridor at the top of the staircase was somewhat dark, and,
her eyes accustomed to the brilliant light out of doors, the girl
stumbled against a child who was coming towards her.

"_Petit bete!_" she snapped. "You have all but made me fall. Awkward
little thing, why don't you keep ou