As he talked to Miss Lavinia in jerky monosyllables,—­the only speech that the noise made possible,—­I had a chance to look at him.  He did not possess a single feature of classic proportions, and yet he was a handsome man, owing to the illumination of his face.  Brown, introspective eyes, with a merry way of shutting; heavy, dark hair and brows, and a few thoughtful lines here and there; mustache pulled down at the corners, as if by the unconscious weight of a nervously strong hand; and a firm jaw, but not squared to the point that suggests the dominance of the physical.  He wore a dark gray Inverness coat, evidently one of the fruits of his English tour, and a well-proportioned soft felt hat, set on firmly, the crown creased in the precise way necessary to justify the city use of the article by a man of thirty.  He seemed to be in excellent, almost boyish spirits, and so natural and wholesome withal, that I am sure I should not feel at all embarrassed at finding myself alone with him on a desert island.  This is one of my pet similes of approval.

Finally he blurted out:  “Miss Lavinia, I do so wish your advice upon a strictly woman’s matter; one, however, that is of great importance to me.  I shall have to take the night express back, and this is the only time I have left.  Would you—­could we go in somewhere, do you think, and have something while I explain?”

Miss Lavinia looked dubious as to whether his invitation might mean drinks, man fashion, or luncheon.  But as at that moment we reached the chief New York residence of well-born ice cream soda, for which I always hanker, in spite of snow and slush, much to Evan’s disgust, I relieved the situation by plunging in, saying that I was even more thirsty in winter than in summer.  Whereat Miss Lavinia shivered, but cheerfully resigned herself to hot chocolate.  “The matter in point is,” continued Bradford, feeling boyishly of one of the blocks of ice that decorated the counter to find if it was real, and speaking directly to Miss Lavinia, “I’ve had a great happiness come into my life this last week; something that I did not expect to happen for years.  My chief has retired, and I have been promoted.  I will not take your time to go selfishly into details now.  I can tell you to-night, if you care to hear.  I cannot go home until the Easter holidays, and so I want to send something to my mother by way of celebration.  Would you select it for me?” and the big fellow swept the shop with an indefinite sort of gaze, as if buying candy for the universe would but feebly express his feelings.

“Certainly I will,” replied Miss Lavinia, warming at once;—­“but what kind of something?”

“I think,”—­hesitating a trifle,—­“a very good gown, and an ornament of some kind.”

“Would she not prefer choosing the gown herself?  People’s tastes differ so much about clothing,” ventured Miss Lavinia, willing, even anxious, to help the man, yet shrinking from the possibility of feminine criticism.