Even a prospect thus curtailed revealed her as a smudged and dusty little girl; and, evidently, her mother must have been preoccupied with some important affair that day; but to William she suggested nothing familiar.  As his glance happened to encounter hers, the peering eyes grew instantly brighter with excitement;—­she exposed her whole countenance at the window, and impulsively made a face at him.

William had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen her before.

He gave her one stern look and went on; though he felt that something ought to be done.  The affair was not a personal one—­patently, this was a child who played about the station and amused herself by making faces at everybody who passed the telephone-booth—­still, the authorities ought not to allow it.  People did not come to the station to be insulted.

Three seconds later the dusty-faced little girl and her moue were sped utterly from William’s mind.  For, as the doors swung together behind him, he saw Miss Pratt.  There were no gates nor iron barriers to obscure the view; there was no train-shed to darken the air.  She was at some distance, perhaps two hundred feet, along the tracks, where the sleeping-cars of the long train would stop.  But there she stood, mistakable for no other on this wide earth!

There she stood—­a glowing little figure in the hazy September sunlight, her hair an amber mist under the adorable little hat; a small bunch of violets at her waist; a larger bunch of fragrant but less expensive sweet peas in her right hand; half a dozen pink roses in her left; her little dog Flopit in the crook of one arm; and a one-pound box of candy in the crook of the other—­ineffable, radiant, starry, there she stood!

Near her also stood her young hostess, and Wallace Banks, Johnnie Watson, and Joe Bullitt—­three young gentlemen in a condition of solemn tensity.  Miss Parcher saw William as he emerged from the station building, and she waved her parasol in greeting, attracting the attention of the others to him, so that they:  all turned and stared.

Seventeen sometimes finds it embarrassing (even in a state of deep emotion) to walk two hundred feet, or thereabout, toward a group of people who steadfastly watch the long approach.  And when the watching group contains the lady of all the world before whom one wishes to appear most debonair, and contains not only her, but several rivals, who, though fairly good-hearted, might hardly be trusted to neglect such an opportunity to murmur something jocular about one—­No, it cannot be said that William appeared to be wholly without self-consciousness.

In fancy he had prophesied for this moment something utterly different.  He had seen himself parting from her, the two alone as within a cloud.  He had seen himself gently placing his box of candy in her hands, some of his fingers just touching some of hers and remaining thus lightly in contact to the very last.  He had seen himself bending toward the sweet blonde head to murmur the few last words of simple eloquence, while her eyes lifted in mysterious appeal to his—­and he had put no other figures, not even Miss Parcher’s, into this picture.