“It ain’t Bill at all,” the other broke in.

“How do you know?” he demanded.  “You never laid eyes on me before.”

“No need to, to know you’re lyin’,” was the retort.

“Straight, Bill, what is it?” the first girl asked.

“Bill’ll do,” he confessed.

She reached out to his arm and shook him playfully.  “I knew you was lyin’, but you look good to me just the same.”

He captured the hand that invited, and felt on the palm familiar markings and distortions.

“When’d you chuck the cannery?” he asked.

“How’d yeh know?” and, “My, ain’t cheh a mind-reader!” the girls chorussed.

And while he exchanged the stupidities of stupid minds with them, before his inner sight towered the book-shelves of the library, filled with the wisdom of the ages.  He smiled bitterly at the incongruity of it, and was assailed by doubts.  But between inner vision and outward pleasantry he found time to watch the theatre crowd streaming by.  And then he saw Her, under the lights, between her brother and the strange young man with glasses, and his heart seemed to stand still.  He had waited long for this moment.  He had time to note the light, fluffy something that hid her queenly head, the tasteful lines of her wrapped figure, the gracefulness of her carriage and of the hand that caught up her skirts; and then she was gone and he was left staring at the two girls of the cannery, at their tawdry attempts at prettiness of dress, their tragic efforts to be clean and trim, the cheap cloth, the cheap ribbons, and the cheap rings on the fingers.  He felt a tug at his arm, and heard a voice saying:-

“Wake up, Bill!  What’s the matter with you?”

“What was you sayin’?” he asked.

“Oh, nothin’,” the dark girl answered, with a toss of her head.  “I was only remarkin’—­”

“What?”

“Well, I was whisperin’ it’d be a good idea if you could dig up a gentleman friend—­for her” (indicating her companion), “and then, we could go off an’ have ice-cream soda somewhere, or coffee, or anything.”

He was afflicted by a sudden spiritual nausea.  The transition from Ruth to this had been too abrupt.  Ranged side by side with the bold, defiant eyes of the girl before him, he saw Ruth’s clear, luminous eyes, like a saint’s, gazing at him out of unplumbed depths of purity.  And, somehow, he felt within him a stir of power.  He was better than this.  Life meant more to him than it meant to these two girls whose thoughts did not go beyond ice-cream and a gentleman friend.  He remembered that he had led always a secret life in his thoughts.  These thoughts he had tried to share, but never had he found a woman capable of understanding—­nor a man.  He had tried, at times, but had only puzzled his listeners.  And as his thoughts had been beyond them, so, he argued now, he must be beyond them.  He felt power move in him, and clenched