In the meantime, the girl had slipped into her own garments once more with a relief and joy she could scarcely believe were her own.  Had it all been an ugly dream, this life she had been living for the past few months, and was she going back now to rest and peace and real life?  Nay, not going back, but going forward.  The sweet color came into her beautiful face at thought of the one who, though not knowing her, yet had loved her enough to take her as she was, and lift her out of her trouble.  It was like the most romantic of fairy tales, this unexpected lover and the joy that had come to her.  How had it happened to her quiet, conventional life?  Ah, it was good and dear, whatever it was!  She pressed her happy eyes with her fluttering, nervous fingers, to keep the glad tears back, and laughed out to herself a joyful ripple such as she had not uttered since her uncle’s death.

A knock at the door brought her back to realities again.  Her heart throbbed wildly.  Had he come back to her already?  Or had her enemy found her out at last?

Tryon Dunham hurried up the steps of the Y.W.C.A.  Building, nearly knocking over a baggy individual in rubbers, who was lurking in the entrance.  The young man had seen a boy in uniform, laden with two enormous boxes, run up the steps as he turned the last corner.  Hastily writing a few lines on one of his cards and slipping it into the largest box, he sent them both up to the girl’s room.  Then he sauntered to the door to see if the carriage had come.  It was there.  He glanced inside to see if his orders about flowers had been fulfilled, and spoke a few words of direction to the driver.  Turning back to the door, he found the small, red eyes of the baggy Irishman fixed upon him.  Something in the slouch of the figure reminded Dunham strongly now of the man he had noticed the night before, and as he went back into the building he looked the man over well and determined to watch him.  As he sat in the office waiting, twice he saw the bleary eyes of the baggy man applied to the glass panes in the front door and as suddenly withdrawn.  It irritated him, and finally he strode to the door and asked the man if he were looking for some one.

“Just waitin’ fer me sweetheart,” whined the man, with a cringing attitude.  “She has a room in here, an’ I saw her go in a while back.”

“Well, you’d better move on.  They don’t care to have people hanging around here.”

The man slunk away with a vindictive glance, and Tryon Dunham went back to the office, more perturbed at the little incident than he could understand.

Upstairs the girl had dared to open her door and had been relieved to find the elevator boy there with the two boxes.

“The gentleman’s below, an’ he says he’ll wait, an’ he sent these up,” said the boy, depositing his burden and hurrying away.

She locked her door once more, for somehow a great fear had stolen over her now that she was again dressed in her own garments and could easily be recognized.