Afterward, he could not have named the color of the little parasol she carried in her left hand, and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosy haze suffused the neighborhood, and the whole world began to turn an exquisite pink.  Beneath this gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought, she apparently took no note of William, even when she and William had come within a few yards of each other.  Yet he knew that she would look up and that their eyes must meet—­a thing for which he endeavored to prepare himself by a strange weaving motion of his neck against the friction of his collar—­for thus, instinctively, he strove to obtain greater ease and some decent appearance of manly indifference.  He felt that his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was ruinous and must be perceptible at a distance of miles, not feet.  And then, in the instant of panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids slowly lifted, he had a flash of inspiration.

He opened his mouth somewhat, and as her eyes met his, full and startlingly, he placed three fingers across the orifice, and also offered a slight vocal proof that she had surprised him in the midst of a yawn.

“Oh, hum!” he said.

For the fraction of a second, the deep blue spark in her eyes glowed brighter—­gentle arrows of turquoise shot him through and through—­and then her glance withdrew from the ineffable collision.  Her small, white-shod feet continued to bear her onward, away from him, while his own dimmed shoes peregrinated in the opposite direction—­William necessarily, yet with excruciating reluctance, accompanying them.  But just at the moment when he and the lovely creature were side by side, and her head turned from him, she spoke that is, she murmured, but he caught the words.

“You Flopit, wake up!” she said, in the tone of a mother talking baby-talk.  “So indifferink!”

William’s feet and his breath halted spasmodically.  For an instant he thought she had spoken to him, and then for the first time he perceived the fluffy head of the dog bobbing languidly over her arm, with the motion of her walking, and he comprehended that Flopit, and not William Sylvanus Baxter, was the gentleman addressed.  But—­but had she meant him?

His breath returning, though not yet operating in its usual manner, he stood gazing after her, while the glamorous parasol passed down the shady street, catching splashes of sunshine through the branches of the maple-trees; and the cottony head of the tiny dog continued to be visible, bobbing rhythmically over a filmy sleeve.  Had she meant that William was indifferent?  Was it William that she really addressed?

He took two steps to follow her, but a suffocating shyness stopped him abruptly and, in a horror lest she should glance round and detect him in the act, he turned and strode fiercely to the gate of his own home before he dared to look again.  And when he did look, affecting great casualness in the action, she was gone, evidently having turned the corner.  Yet the street did not seem quite empty; there was still something warm and fragrant about it, and a rosy glamor lingered in the air.  William rested an elbow upon the gate-post, and with his chin reposing in his hand gazed long in the direction in which the unknown had vanished.  And his soul was tremulous, for she had done her work but too well.