But at Fifty-eighth street, under one of the light-clusters, he encountered a slender and solitary figure, and as he approached, he recognized the girl to whom he had so recently been introduced.  The pianist had just been thinking of her, pondering why her face had stood out in the mist, when other faces had been swallowed, and why, although her eyes had confessed the delight of anticipation, she had later vouchsafed no word of commendation.  Surely he had not played badly tonight and he was accustomed to ready praise.  When the older woman who had presented him had spoken of him as a master he had laughed deprecatingly, but his eyes had gone half-questioningly to the girl, as if seeking corroboration there, and the girl had met them with only an impersonal and non-committal smile.

Paul had drunk enough of flattery to feel piqued at its withholding.  Now to see the figure of her who had withheld appear there quite unaccompanied, as though rising in response to his meditations, almost startled him.  She did not see him until he reached her side and lifted his hat; not even then, for she was looking across the avenue with something of absorption in her manner, until he spoke her name.

Even as he murmured, “Miss Terroll,” the inflection of surprise remained in his voice.  It was well after ten o’clock and in those circles of society where he was received the system of chaperonage was rigid enough to fail of understanding for the women who dared the streets at night unescorted.  He knew ladies who went to their several rostrums to sound the clarion of sex equality and who went at night, but they did not go uncavaliered.  And under the lights this slim figure, with its easy, almost boyish independence, seemed very young, almost childish.

She turned, at his greeting, and her eyes must have read his thoughts, for once more they smiled and in the smile was an amused twinkle.  This time, though, it was also a smile of the lips, revealing a row of teeth so small and white that they accentuated her seeming of childishness.  She must be about twenty-two or twenty-three he thought.

“Mr. Burton,” she laughed, “you spoke my name then almost as though I had astonished or startled you.  I was scrutinizing the house across the way rather intently, but honestly there was no burglary in my thoughts.”

“I’m rather sorry to hear that,” he countered with a simulation of disappointment.  “I’ve never burgled—­and I had begun to hope you’d initiate me and let me share the adventure.”  She said nothing for a moment, and he bluntly demanded, “I was wondering what was in your thoughts just then.”

Miss Terroll bent forward to look up the avenue before she answered.  The ’buses were not running close together at this hour and the lamps of the nearest were still two blocks away.

“If I tell you, will you tell me why you spoke my name so chidingly?”

“It seems on its face a fair bargain.”  He spoke with a pretendedly grave consideration of the subject.  Then added, “Yes, I will.”