Gatewood, sobered, surprised, descended the stairs and hailed a hansom.

CHAPTER VI

All the way to the Whip and Spur Club he sat buried in a reverie from which, at intervals, he started, aroused by the heavy, expectant beating of his own pulses.  But what did he expect, in Heaven’s name?  Not the discovery of a woman who had never existed.  Yet his excitement and impatience grew as he watched the saddling of his horse; and when at length he rode out into the sunshine and cantered through the Park entrance, his sense of impending events and his expectancy amounted to a fever which colored his face attractively.

He saw her almost immediately.  Her horse was walking slowly in the dappled shadows of the new foliage; she, listless in her saddle, sometimes watching the throngs of riders passing, at moments turning to gaze into the woodland vistas where, over the thickets of flowering shrubbery, orioles and robins sped flashing on tinted wings from shadow to sun, from sun to shadow.  But she looked up as he drew bridle and wheeled his mount beside her; and, “Oh!” she said, flushing in recognition.

“I have missed you terribly,” he said quietly.

It was dreamy weather, even for late spring:  the scent of lilacs and mock-orange hung heavy as incense along the woods.  Their voices unconsciously found the key to harmonize with it all.

She said:  “Well, I think I have succeeded.  In a few moments she will be passing.  I do not know her name; she rides a big roan.  She is very beautiful, Mr. Gatewood.”

He said:  “I am perfectly certain we shall find her.  I doubted it until now.  But now I know.”

“Oh-h, but I may be wrong,” she protested.

“No; you cannot be.”

She looked up at him.

“You can have no idea how happy you make me,” he said unsteadily.

“But—­I—­but I may be all wrong—­dreadfully wrong!”

“Y-es; you may be, but I shall not be.  For do you know that I have already seen her in the Park?”

“When?” she demanded incredulously, then turned in the saddle, repeating:  “Where?  Did she pass?  How perfectly stupid of me!  And was she the—­the right one?”

“She is the right one. . . .  Don’t turn:  I have seen her.  Ride on:  I want to say something—­if I can.”

“No, no,” she insisted.  “I must know whether I was right—­”

“You are right—­but you don’t know it yet. . . .  Oh, very well, then; we’ll turn if you insist.”  And he wheeled his mount as she did, riding at her bridle again.

“How can you take it so coolly—­so indifferently?” she said.  “Where has that woman—­where has she gone? . . .  Never mind; she must turn and pass us sooner or later, for she lives uptown. What are you laughing at, Mr. Gatewood?”—­in annoyed surprise.

“I am laughing at myself.  Oh, I’m so many kinds of a fool—­you can’t think how many, and it’s no use!”