The St. Johns’ fine pair of bays and their open carriage were drawn up beside the station.  The horses were entering a spirited, ground-pawing protest against the vicinity of that alway inexplicable and snorting monster on wheels.  On the platform, evidently waiting for some one to get off the train, stood St. John and Margaret.  She looked much fresher and sweeter than a rose, and Aladdin noted that she was wearing her hair up for the first time.  Her dress was a floaty white affair with a blue ribbon round it, and her beautiful, gay young face flushed with excitement and anticipation till it sparkled.  There was a large crowd getting off the train, at that aggravating rate of progression with which people habitually leave a crowded public conveyance or a theater, and Margaret and her father were looking through the windows of the cars to see if they could catch a glimpse of whom they sought.  Suddenly the senator broke into a smile and waved his cane.  The action was so unusual for him that it looked grotesque.  Margaret stood on tiptoe and waved her hand, and a presentiment came to Aladdin and took away all his joy.

Peter Manners, looking fresh and clean in spite of his long, dusty ride, got off the train and made a hilarious rush for his friends.  He shook hands with Margaret, then with the senator, and turned again to Margaret.  She was altogether too pretty, and much too glad to see him.  In the excitement of the moment it couldn’t be borne, and he kissed her.  Then they both laughed, and the senator laughed, for he was glad.  He put his great hand on Manners’ shoulder, and laughing and talking, the three went to the carriage.  Then the senator remembered that the checks had been forgotten, and against a voluble protest he secured them from Manners, and went after an expressman.  Having found the expressman—­one of his constituents and a power in the town,—­he handed him the checks, a fifty-cent piece, and a ponderous joke as old as Xerxes, at which the expressman roared.  Manners stood by the carriage and looked at Margaret.  “Lord God,” he thought, “it has come at last!” and they grinned at each other.

“Mmm!” said Margaret, who stood for the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.  She had not expected to be so glad to see him.

Meanwhile Aladdin had turned and was going home.

Margaret caught sight of his back, and the pitiful little droop in the usually erect shoulders, and she divined like a flash, and called after him.  He pretended not to hear and went on.  In his pocket was the editor’s letter which he had designed to show her.  It had lain down and died.

“Why does that man hate me so?” said Manners.

A little of the joy of meeting had gone.  A cloud passed over the sun, and the earth was darkened.  Many drops of rain began to fall, each making a distinct splash as it struck.  One began to smell the disturbed dust.  But the flowers continued to send up their incense to heaven, and Manners put his light overcoat about Margaret.