such in some sort they were to him—­the Back Bay in his eyes was nothing more than a collection of houses inhabited by people whom money and social position made unassailable.  But to-day he, too, was excited.  Never had he been more keenly aware of her sensitiveness to experience; and he to whom it had not occurred to wonder at Boston wondered at her, who seemed able to summon forth a presiding, brooding spirit of the place from out of the snow.  Deep in her eyes, though they sparkled, was the reflection of some mystic vision; her cheeks were flushed.  And in her delight, vicariously his own, he rejoiced; in his trembling hope of more delight to come, which this mentorship would enhance,—­despite the fast deepening snow he drove her up one side of Commonwealth Avenue and down the other, encircling the Common and the Public Garden; stopping at the top of Park Street that she might gaze up at the State House, whose golden dome, seen through the veil, was tinged with blue.  Boston!  Why not Russia?  Janet was speechless for sheer lack of words to describe what she felt....

At length he brought the car to a halt opposite an imposing doorway in front of which a glass roof extended over the pavement, and Janet demanded where they were.

“Well, we’ve got to eat, haven’t we?” Ditmar replied.  She noticed that he was shivering.

“Are you cold?” she inquired with concern.

“I guess I am, a little,” he replied.  “I don’t know why I should be, in a fur coat.  But I’ll be warm soon enough, now.”

A man in blue livery hurried toward them across the sidewalk, helping them to alight.  And Ditmar, after driving the car a few paces beyond the entrance, led her through the revolving doors into a long corridor, paved with marble and lighted by bulbs glowing from the ceiling, where benches were set against the wall, overspread by the leaves of potted plants set in the intervals between them.

“Sit down a moment,” he said to her.  “I must telephone to have somebody take that car, or it’ll stay there the rest of the winter.”

She sat down on one of the benches.  The soft light, the warmth, the exotic odour of the plants, the well-dressed people who trod softly the strip of carpet set on the marble with the air of being at home—­all contributed to an excitement, intense yet benumbing.  She could not think.  She didn’t want to think—­only to feel, to enjoy, to wring the utmost flavour of enchantment from these new surroundings; and her face wore the expression of one in a dream.  Presently she saw Ditmar returning followed by a boy in a blue uniform.